


Of Wolves And Men

by ur_the_puppy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Wanheda - Freeform, Werewolf!Lexa, but also wanheda!clarke, gets a little dark, shifting, some gore, werewolf!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 231,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ur_the_puppy/pseuds/ur_the_puppy
Summary: All it can take is a single moment, a single second, and with it everything you've ever known can be destroyed.After being bitten three years ago, Clarke has had to adjust to a complete derailing of her life. Abandoning her dreams of becoming a doctor in fear of what she could do, she hides away in the small town of Polis with her best friend Raven. It's a humans only town. That is, until a girl is killed, and Clarke suddenly realises she's not the only werewolf that exists.orwerewolf au where clarke has no idea the extent of what she is and lexa really shouldn't be falling for a mutt.





	1. There's Madness In The Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, i had this idea a while back but didnt let myself write it cause i was already neck-deep in other stories. finally gotten round to it though, and so i hope you enjoy. im a major sucker for werewolves and it'll probably show. also it's only me that goes over this, so if typos are something that drive you mad, kindly point them out and i'll fix them for you.  
> (also, for that Full Immersion listen to: Antidote by Emily Wells (Live Arrangement))

Raven was going to kill her.

It wasn’t _technically_ her fault she was late. She had told her boss that she was going to leave early because she wasn’t feeling well, and while he had narrowed his eyes at her, he had nodded and accepted it. But then the usually dead store had suddenly been overrun with a gaggle of tight-pants wearing mothers, pale faces pinched with thin lips and sharp eyes—apparently one of them was in _dire_ need of a piñata for her son and needed the others as moral support. So, just as she’d been stepping out of her little nook, her manager had shot her a pleading look as the pack of mothers descended onto the art store.

And because of her damn conscience she had sighed and returned to the counter.

So, she was late.

Hence why she was sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her.

It was already starting. She could feel it. A cold sweat had broken out, but the bigger sign was the way she couldn’t stop shaking, the phantom aches she could feel in her bones. It was happening, it was _going_ to happen, and if she didn’t get to Raven soon then she was fucked. Clarke grit her teeth at the twinge that pulsed in her gut. She was pushing it dangerously close.

She finally got there though, Clarke practically skidding to a stop with the momentum of her speed. The man that was leaning against the taxi jumped back at her abrupt appearance, probably also because of how she looked too. Sweating and panting and definitely at least a _little_ crazy looking.

“This yours?” Clarke panted, still catching her breath. She gestured to the yellow car next to her, and the man only hesitated for a beat before nodding. Clarke didn’t need anything more. She jerked the door open and near dived in. Soon the taxi driver was in too and strapping his seatbelt.

Clarke had to physically stop herself from gagging at the onslaught of smells that hit like a wave the moment she was in. It was a mess of smoke, car freshener, mint and a musky cologne that made her grimace and bring the back of her hand to her mouth. It didn’t make much of a difference. She could still smell it.

“Where to?” the taxi driver asked, leaning his head to look back to her. His accent was thick, tan skin and warm brown eyes taking her in. Clarke squinted just behind him and saw his name printed on a card that hung by the car console. Luis Lopez.

“You know where the Dropship is?” Clarke said. Luis nodded and started the engine. “Be fast. I’ll pay double.”

That made him glance at her. “Double?” he echoed, seeming more confused than anything.

Clarke felt a wave of dizziness hit and curled her hands into fists. “ _Go._ ” She growled, her voice far rougher than it should be. Maybe the human in him made him realise he shouldn’t doubt her and if he valued his life should do as he she said.

He didn’t question her again.

The car jolted forward and all Clarke felt was relief. She let herself slump into the back seat—surprisingly comfortable, Clarke noted silently—and though there was still an ever-present vibration in her bones that made her clench her teeth, she was an inch more relaxed. She would get there. She would. It would be fine, there seemed to be little traffic, Luis was _definitely_ going above the speed limit—it was all good. She would make it.

Which was of course when her phone started ringing.

Clarke briefly closed her eyes. The nausea was hitting now and she knew she didn’t have long. She blew out a low sigh before she reached into pocket and pulled out her phone. She wasn’t surprised to see Raven’s face on the screen. In the photo she was smiling, the usual shit-eating grin that she always wore, which was ironic considering how probably furious Raven was right now.

She may as well bite the bullet.

Clarke touched answer and brought it to her ear, where not a second later she got shouted at and making her hiss with her sensitive hearing. “Fucking Christ Rae, speak _quieter_ , you know how my hearing is when—“

“Oh! You want me to speak _quieter_ do you? Really? Well, do you know what _I_ want Clarke, would you like to take a wonderful fucking guess?” Raven lectured her through the phone. Clarke had to hold her phone a little away from her head because of the volume.

“It’s not my fault,” Clarke quickly got out. “I got out late. I was held back.”

“I’ll show you ‘held back’ Griffin. And it will be _me_ holding you as I slam you into a table over and over.”

Clarke winced. “When did you get so violent?”

She knew she said the wrong thing when she heard the chilling laugh. “When did _I_ get so violent? _Me_? Okay, who is the one, where if they do not get to me in the next five minutes will tear anything that moves limb from fucking limb?”

“Raven,” Clarke warned, fear and worry like always leaking into her voice when Raven brought _that_ topic up.

But Raven didn’t apologise. Clarke realised she must be seriously furious. “No. Where are you right now?”

Clarke sighed, leaning forward and glancing out the window to try and work out where she was. “I’m ten minutes away.”

“Clarke!” Raven snapped and Clarke just barely bit down on her growl.

“I know Rae! I fucking know!”

“Are you okay Miss—“

Clarke cut Luis off with a snarl. “Keep driving.”

“Who was that? Please tell me you are not with a human being right now. Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous that—“

“Yes, Raven, I have a pretty good fucking idea.” Clarke forced herself to take a breath to calm down. She was getting too worked up. It was far too dangerous to let anger control her at such a delicate time. Clarke was just about to try and placate the situation when her stomach suddenly felt like a clawed hand had punctured it and was twisting her organs. She lurched forward with a curse, her hands snapping onto the sides of the chair in front of her. The clawed hand pushed further and Clarke only contained her scream through years of experience. Then, as quickly as it had come it disappeared.

Clarke was panting heavy, drops of sweat burrowing down the sides of her head and dripping to the car floor. Her eyes had screwed shut at the pain, but at opening them she realised she had dropped her phone. Trying to even her breathing she leant down and picked it up.

“Sorry,” Clarke breathed, the pain clear in her voice. “Got distracted. What string of insults did you throw at me?”

“Has it started?” Raven demanded. If Clarke weren’t so acutely aware how close she was to turning right here in this damn car she would have been impressed at Raven’s command in her tone.

Clarke hesitated on a response and that was answer enough.

She heard Raven suck in a sharp sigh. “Fucking hell Griffin.” She muttered under her breath.

“It’s fine, I’m fine I’ll be there soon.”

“And if you’re not? You want me to call the cops now to save you the time?”

“Don’t Raven,” Clarke growled. She closed her eyes and lowered her voice. “Please.” She whispered softly.

Raven sighed again but she said nothing.

Clarke was almost about to relax again when she noticed the car had stopped. Her head snapped up and she leaned forward. “Why aren’t we moving?” she demanded, her heart picking up. She didn’t know if it had started racing or had been the entire time.

Luis grunted and waved his hand. “Traffic, look,” and he pointed through the windshield, indeed showing the line of cars backed up. He huffed. “Rush hour.”

Clarke cursed. “Can you go around? Back out?”

He shook his head. “Too far in.”

Clarke fell back into the seat. She pulled in a shaky breath. Her body was still trembling, her shirt was drenched through with sweat, the smells were getting more intense and the sounds of the traffic were building with every passing second. Every bone in her ached and she was growing increasingly claustrophobic in this tiny space. She wanted to get out; she wanted to _run_ , to be free, to—

“Thanks for the ride,” Clarke said, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out whatever cash was there. It was too much but she didn’t care. Luis turned in his seat at her words, his heavy brows drawn in a frown, but Clarke just slapped the money into his lap and shoved open the car door. She saw his eyes widen as she shuffled out.

“What are you doing?” he asked bewildered. Clarke ignored him and brought the phone to her ear again.

“I’ll be there soon Raven. See you.”

She heard a growl. “Don’t you _dare_ hang up this phone Griffin—“

Clarke hung up.

She let out a huff and slipped it back into her pocket. A honk sounded off from behind her, mostly likely because she had stepped out in the middle of the road. Clarke didn’t really see why they bothered honking though. The traffic wasn’t moving; they weren’t for a while considering how logged up to looked to be. Clarke knew where she had to go though, her only problem was that it was _across_ the rows and rows of cars.

Her thoughts were cut off when a sharp burst of pain stabbed her in the chest. Clarke staggered back into another car, hitting it and making the owner curse at her from within. Clarke barely noticed though and was far more focused on the pain that was felt like it was ripping her ribs apart.

“No,” Clarke growled, her voice low and rough. “Not here.”

She fought the pain, trying to shove the agony back, shove _it_ back. It took a few pain-filled seconds. But she managed it, Clarke’s eyes fluttering open now that she could function again. She knew she didn’t have long.

“Alright, to hell with it then,” Clarke breathed, and so without wasting another moment she burst forward and jumped up on the hood of the taxi. She saw Luis swearing at her from behind the windscreen and shot him an apologetic smile before she jumped for the next nearest car. From there she pounced from hood to hood like lily pads, her speed picking up with each jump, though Clarke had to actively slow herself down near the end in the efforts to still appear human.

She got honked at and cursed the entire time but soon Clarke was back on the ground and she could run again. Her feet hit the pavement and she bolted, easily pushing to speeds that were far too fast for a human being. She ignored the bliss that soared through at the feeling of giving in to that animal part of her, of running so fast the world was a blur at her sides, instead forcibly reminded herself of _why_ she was heading to Raven instead of just going for the forest.

The pain hit again, but it was harder than before and made her trip and fall. She hit the pavement and swore, curling her hands into tight fists as another wave of agony hit.

With heavy breaths she staggered up to her feet. Her eyes drifted upwards to the darkening skies. It would be soon now. The moon was due up at any moment. Clarke ignored the dangerous roll of her gut when she stood up, but as soon as she started to run again to get her momentum back she was stopping just as quickly, jerking to a halt like a dog pulled on a chain. Clarke’s eyes were glued across the street to where a cyclist was. They were covered in sweat, Clarke could smell it from here, but more important was the fact that they were sitting down, leaning their back against a near tree.

They were cleaning their knee with a cloth, squeezing water from their water bottle into the rag before gently wiping down the damaged skin, the streaks of blood leaking down their leg. The white of the cloth became redder with each wipe.

Clarke’s throat went dry. Her feet felt like they were cemented in the ground. She focused harder, and she found the steady beat of the cyclist’s heart. She could practically hear the rush of their blood. Clarke felt the shift in her mind, the whisper that came from within, the voice she had come to recognise and fear with her entire being.

_Five steps._

And it was right, five steps. That was all it would take. She could imagine out the path she’d take now, just a few long strides to cross the street, and then she would be so close. There was no one else either with them; this part of town was empty of people, just the cars that came through. The cyclist’s head finally popped up, seeming to sense Clarke’s staring. She saw that they frowned when they spotted her.

Clarke subconsciously drew in a deep breath through her nose and it was intoxicating the scent of the human’s sweat, the small tendrils of fear and unease that were beginning to build. She couldn’t hear anything but their heartbeat, their breathing, the way it quickened. It was just as she had started that first step towards them that she felt her phone go off, the sharp ring snapping her back to reality.

She gasped like she’d just broke through water after nearly drowning, stumbling back. The cyclist was still looking at her, but they were getting up now, seeming to decide it was safer to get away from the girl that wouldn’t stop staring at them. When they kicked their bike off Clarke had to forcibly stop herself from chasing after them.

Instead she blinked and took off running again.

She refused to acknowledge the feeling of disappointment that rose in her gut.

The sun was gone now. She had minutes left at most. Relief crashed into her like a brick wall when she zipped past the Dropship, the trendy café long ago closed with no lights on through the windows. Right across from the café was the woods and Clarke powered more strength into her steps as she sprinted through into the trees.

The pain hit again but Clarke kept herself upright, gritting her teeth and pushing on. It stabbed her in the gut, a ripple down her spine and she cried out when a sharp jerk shocked her leg and she crashed into ground. Clarke growled and felt her teeth pushing out. She curled her fingers into the dirt, feeling her nails dig in the earth.

“Come on, almost there,” Clarke panted. The pain didn’t stop when she stumbled up to her feet and kept moving.

When she finally toppled into the clearing her chest burned and breathing felt like swallowing fire. She was sure there were tiny knives in her lungs that sliced at her every time she inhaled. But she’d made it, Clarke realised as she tripped over her feet to get to the long abandoned warehouse. Weathered vines climbed up the sides. Raven was pacing near the entrance, but at hearing Clarke her head snapped up and her entire body deflated.

“You fucking idiot, come on let’s move!” she yelled and she shoved open the metal door so that Clarke could stumble through.

The warehouse was a small one compared to most, but the important thing was the large box-like shape that was pressed up near the back. It was made of carbon steel, rose up high enough that she could reach her hand up and still have a way to go to reach the ceiling—and the door was thick and heavy enough for the perfect cell.

Clarke grit her teeth at the flare of pain down her spine, slumping against the metal door. It was near an arm’s length of thick steel, was pressurised with magnets and three latch bolts the size of Clarke’s leg. The only way to open it was through a pin code that Raven hastily put in once she was by her side. Clarke turned away, closing her eyes and trying to keep her breathing even. She refused to learn the code to the door in the very unlikely chance that she’d somehow punch it in when she turned. Raven still laughs at her about, but Clarke refused to take any chances.

The sharp ping made Clarke move off the door, watching as a series of heavy clunks sounded and a hiss before the door slowly began to slide open. Clarke slipped through the second there was enough room to fit. The fluorescent lights flickered on the moment she stepped into the room. It always felt more cramped than it actually was Clarke found, though that probably had to do with the fact that half the space was cut off with a wall of thick steel bars. They were closely packed enough that she couldn’t reach an arm through.

Clarke had nearly made it to the gate to the cell when a scream tore out of her throat and she crumbled to the ground on her knees. The moon was up now, she was sure of it. Her hands were sent splaying forward and her back dipped, a ripple of agony going down her spine the only warning before there was a crack and it jerked upwards.

“You’re not in the clear yet Griffin!” Raven snapped at her. “Get up, come on!”

“I can’t—“ her words were cut off with a barely stifled shout of pain.

She was so close now, could feel it in the rushing of her blood. She was slowly starting to lose control, her mind beginning its familiar retreat, so when she felt sudden hands grabbing her sides to try and pull her up she acted without thinking. Clarke snarled and lunged at who’d grabbed her, shoving them against the wall and baring her teeth at them.

Raven froze under Clarke’s grip. Clarke’s eyes blazed a burning yellow, her teeth exposed a low growl vibrating in the throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I know I shouldn’t have grabbed you,” she rushed out, but Clarke just snarled, leaning closer to her and her lip curling up higher. Her wolf blurred her mind and Raven seemed to realise, and the distant part of Clarke that still fought for its waning control felt relief when she saw Raven tilt her head to the side, exposing her neck like she’d taught her. “You’re alpha, big ol’ alpha you are, biggest wolf there is,” she breathed, and at the display of submission Clarke felt her growl slowly die off. Raven sucked in a shuddered breath. “King of the jungle, that’s you. Alpha-iest of alphas.”

Soon, the room was silent once more—the only sound the panting of breaths from both inhabitants—and Clarke stepped back, letting Raven go. Raven pushed out a relieved exhale and shot her a grin. A stab at her chest made Clarke curl over herself and she had to close her eyes, when out of nowhere she felt hands grab her shoulders again but this time they threw her. A boot kicked her back and she hit the ground in a roll. Clarke’s eyes snapped up and she snarled low, bursting forward until she abruptly hit a wall of metal, and all at once she realised that Raven had opened the cell gate without her seeing and had kicked her in.

Raven backpedaled now that Clarke was in. Clarke tried to shove her way out, enraged that she’d dare to challenge her like that, but it was no use. The cell was designed for this, for _her_ , and she was both relieved and furious that the metal didn’t show any signs of giving in.

“It’s alright,” Raven breathed, seeming to ignore Clarke’s animalistic grunts and snarls. “You made it. You’re safe. You can let go.”

Clarke shoved at the bars one last time. Her chest rose up and down fast, but her eyes stayed locked on Raven.

“You can let go.” Raven repeated softly.

Clarke blinked as she stepped back. She still felt like she was going to throw up, every inch of her _burned_ with pain, her very bones trembled and the world was already sharper and more in yellow and blue. And _it_ was right at the door to her mind, just a second from taking over. She had made it though. She couldn’t hurt anyone from here. So Clarke released one last shaky exhale before she gave in.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and everything went black.

-

Clarke came to consciousness slowly.

Her face pulled into a grimace as she came awake, screwing her eyes tightly and letting out a groan at the pulsing aching throughout her entire body. She would never get used to her body tearing itself part. She was lying on her side, and as she blinked her eyes open she winced at the harsh artificial light, raising a shaking hand in an attempt to block some of it.

“Sleeping beauty awakes,” she heard a much too chipper voice sing, the familiar cockiness infused with their tone.

Clarke slowly pushed herself up so she was sitting. “Raven?” she croaked. Her throat felt it’d been rubbed raw with a grater.

Raven offered her a grin from the other side of the cell. In her hands were a pile of folded clothes, a hoodie and a pair of trackies. Wordlessly she leaned forward and slipped the clothes through the bars. “As much as I love staring at your naked bod, you should put some clothes on.” Raven said, raising a pointed brow. Clarke felt like she’d been run over by a truck but she managed the strength to reach and take the offered clothing.

“Thank you,” she murmured, pulling the grey hoodie over her head. She stood up, her arm jerking out to the wall for support when she felt her knees buckle. Thankfully she stayed upright. With a sigh she pulled on the sweatpants and ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers caught on multiple knots and she knew it must be a mess. Clarke squinted her eyes as the realisation hit her slowly. She glanced around the room. “I made it,” she breathed, and her entire body sagged with relief.

Raven glared at her as she opened the cell door for her. “Just.” She corrected, her voice sharp and scolding. “You _just_ made it.”

Clarke would have offered a retort—though she’d no idea what to say, considering she actually partly agreed with Raven—except a sudden scent wafting past her made her freeze. She felt her mouth water. “You brought food?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. Her stomach felt painfully empty.

Raven sighed. “Bloody wolf nose,” she grumbled. With a huff she turned around and grabbed a plastic bag that was at the other side of the room. Clarke had to actively keep herself still as Raven returned over to her, though Clarke eyed the bag and what she could smell as raw meat with great intensity. Raven made a move to lend the bag over when suddenly she paused.

Clarke bit off her impatient growl, knowing it would get her nowhere. Raven had long ago grown immune to her more animal tendencies. It didn’t help that she had just turned though; she could still feel her wolf lingering in her blood.

“Wait,” Raven said, pulling the bag pack and raising a hand to stop Clarke from stepping forward. “Not yet.”

“Raven, you _really_ do not want to taunt me right now.” Clarke warned, her voice low and dangerous. If Raven didn’t hand the meat over she couldn’t be held accountable for her actions.

“First I ask you some questions, then you get the meat.”

Clarke ground her teeth. She could easily snatch the bag out of Raven’s grip. She was far faster than her; Clarke could already calculate four different ways she could obtain the bag in the next second. But Raven never reacted well to when she forcefully overpowered her. So, with a clenched jaw she forced herself to take a calming breath and nodded at her.

Raven smiled. “Good. Why were you late?”

“I got held back. A bunch of mums came in just as I was leaving, I had to deal with them.” Clarke answered, her eyes still glued to the plastic bag.

Raven narrowed her eyes. “And the reason why you didn’t take the day off yesterday like I asked you to?”

Clarke’s hand twitched with the urge to reach out. “I thought I’d be fine, I was meant to leave early anyway. I’d told him I wasn’t feeling well.” She huffed impatiently. “Will you just let me—“

Raven stepped back when Clarke inched forward. “Clarke.” Raven warned and Clarke didn’t stop her growl this time.

“I am _starving_ Raven. I had nothing through the night.”

“And whose fault is that? If you had gotten here on time, had taken the day off instead of proving your pride like a fucking idiot then _I’d_ have had time to get you something—“

Clarke felt her self-control snap at Raven’s insult. She snarled savagely and Raven instantly lurched back, practically tripping over her feet in her hasty retreat.

“Right, too far, gotcha.” Raven threw the bag at her when Clarke tried to advance on her. She caught the bag and ripped it open, biting in the meat as fast she could and moaning at the taste. She devoured it far too quickly, relishing in the rawness. She would have much preferred to have hunted something down herself, but that was never going to happen, so Clarke took what she could get.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and at Raven’s noise of disgust Clarke shot her a wolfish grin. “Man, I’ll never get over how weird it is seeing you eat raw meat.” Raven muttered.

Clarke felt far calmer now that she wasn’t starving. She was still surrounded in pain, was exhausted enough that she could probably sleep till the next century, but she didn’t feel like a bomb about to go off anymore. Raven must have noticed too because Clarke saw the caution that had taken hold in her eyes retreat slightly, and she could just about smell Raven’s relief.

She shook her head at her. “Come on, we’ve gotta get you home and showered as soon as possible.”

Clarke frowned as she followed after Raven. “What’s the rush?” she asked, and Raven suddenly stopped just by the door, spinning on her heel to face her.

“You’ve already forgotten?”

“Forgotten what?” Clarke muttered warily.

Raven looked like she wanted to slap her but seemed to think better of it. “Your _mother_ Clarke. You know, the brunch today. The one you’d organised a month ago. The one you’ve been both stressed and excited for all week?”

Clarke choked on her own breath. “That’s _today_?”

“Yes! So let’s get moving shall we?”

“I can barely stand, why the hell would I organise it for today?” Clarke scowled at herself. It was the second night of her transformation, and she still had another night to go. She was already beyond exhausted and the idea of the likely emotionally draining conversation with her mother sounded anything but good.

Raven rolled her eyes at her. “Be _cause_ Clarke, you two haven’t seen each other in five months and this was the only day she was available, and you decided that it was worth going exhausted and in pain then not seeing her _at all_ for another year.”

Clarke blinked. “Right.” She breathed. She let out a loud groan. “Why the hell is she only free on the full moon?”

Raven grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door. “No idea, you probably pissed off the gods or something.” She started to haul her towards the door and Clarke glared at her, snatching her arm out of her hold. She didn’t expect it when Raven winced at the jostle. Clarke froze and Raven did too.

“What was that?” Clarke questioned lowly, but Raven just shook her head at her.

“It’s fine, come on let’s—“

“Raven.” When Raven ignored her and started away from her Clarke burst forward and grabbed her arm, feeling her heart wrench when Raven hissed and tried to pull from her hold. Clarke held her tighter though and hastily pulled up the sleeve of her top. Her stomach dropped through the floor when she saw the bruising.

Raven was staring at her with soft eyes. “Clarke…”

Clarke sucked in a sharp breath. “Was it me?” she whispered.

“It’s fine, I’ve had worse.”

Clarke’s eyes flicked up to meet Raven’s. She swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, and she felt her eyes go misty. “Raven I’m so—“

“Clarke,” Raven cut off, grabbing one of her hands and covering it with her own. “It’s fine, I’m okay,” she assured, and her voice was sincere, attempting to alleviate Clarke of her guilt.

But Clarke would always feel guilt, and Raven’s words had no effect.

Raven seemed to know. She sighed and shook her head at her. “Come on, we’ve got to get you home.” She said. Clarke forced a trembling breath, trying to ignore the sinking of her heart, but Raven merely grinned at her and playfully slugged her in the arm. “Definitely need a shower too, because—no offense, Clarke—but you stink.”

Clarke was able to answer with a shaky laugh and that seemed to prove enough.

-

She fell asleep in the car ride back.

It was no surprise. Really it was a miracle she even made to the car without dropping dead. The moment she was in though, sliding into the passenger seat of Raven’s truck she was slumping against the seat and her head was lolling to the side. Clarke noticed that Raven kept the volume of her music low just before she fell unconscious. That small ounce of care made her chest feel like it was caving in.

Her sleep wasn’t restful. Her dreams were wild things, though it was the more feeling that struck her, not what she actually saw. It came in flashes. Grey walls. Harsh lights. The tangy smell of metal. A whiff of something human, something she _craved_ , but unable to see it or get to it. Her body ached, but after Clarke woke up from her unsettling dreams in the seat of Raven’s truck, Clarke knew that it wasn’t just due to shifting. She had spent the night throwing herself against the bars. She thought she’d almost had it too, most of it was blurry, but there was a feeling, a blink of a moment, but its intensity made it shine like fires at midnight.

The excitement. Her dreams remained pretty uneventful and vague, but _that_ moment; that she remembered.

The bars had creaked.

Clarke’s eyes snapped open with a jolt. She was breathing heavy and her heart thundered against her ribs, but she couldn’t tell whether it was in fear of what she had felt—or if it was an echo of the feeling itself.

“You right?” Raven asked her, and Clarke blinked a few times, trying to shove away the dream’s grip on her mind. Though she didn’t believe it was a dream. It was glimpses of last night.

“Yeah.” Clarke released a shaky breath, staring out as the world blurred passed them while they drove. She recognised these streets. They were just about home. “Bad dream.”

She heard Raven hum in agreement. “Yeah, you were whimpering in your sleep.” Clarke could practically taste Raven’s hesitation. She knew what it was for, Clarke could already feel her body begin to stiffen in preparation. In the end Raven seemed to decide it was worth breaching the topic they usually _always_ steered clear from. “Was it… was it from last night? Your memories?”

“ _I_ am not that thing.” Clarke muttered, just barely keeping the snarl from her voice. She turned her head and looked to Raven. “It’s a parasite. They aren’t my memories. They are _its_.”

“Wanheda’s,” Raven tried carefully.

Clarke lowered her voice. “Don’t speak its name.”

Raven sighed, glancing to her as her hands clenched and unclenched uselessly around the steering wheel. “Clarke—“

“No.” Clarke growled. She pulled her lip back and dug her nails into the sides of the car seat. “You are far too good a person to speak its name.”

Raven shot her a worried glance, but when Clarke refused to meet her eyes and instead stared out through the car window, she heard her best friend sigh. “Fine.” She pushed through gritted teeth. “We’ll deal with this at another time. Like we always do.”

Clarke ignored the bite in her tone and remained silent.

The rest of the drive was tense and uneasy. It wasn’t long before they were dipping into the familiar underground car park. They pulled up to their designated spot, Raven jerking the handbrake and letting the engine die. For a few tense moments they did nothing but sit, neither trying to diffuse what was burdening the air between them, as they knew that whoever started would be the one who’d get blamed. But Clarke felt her shoulders drop. She was tired, she was exhausted and aching and in _pain_.

She needed Raven. She was the only thing that kept her sane. So when Clarke finally unbuckled her seatbelt and glanced over to the girl next to her, her eyes were soft.

“I’ll make pasta,” she offered quietly, and though Raven sighed with a heavy amount of frustration, the tension in the lines of body lessened.

Her eyes flicked to her. “…That baked macaroni?”

Clarke felt herself grin. “With that sauce you like.”

Raven bit her lip. Clarke knew she’d won her over though when she rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you can cook.” She grumbled, opening the car door and slipping out. Clarke quickly followed on after her. She grimaced slightly when she walked over to Raven’s side, her body protesting against her.

“You love it.” She teased and it earned her a glare.

“My _stomach_ loves it. For the rest, the jury is still out.”

Clarke breathed a soft laugh, though it was more in relief that Raven had decided to let her go than anything. She had been worried she’d truly pissed her off before. “Years of friendship, and this is how you repay me? Does my loyalty mean nothing to you?”

Raven scoffed. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, but there was a smile trying to pull at the corners of her lips.

Clarke just grinned.

They took the elevator up. Their apartment was on the fourth floor, and while normally Clarke would just breeze up the staircase she was in no state for such a thing. Raven pulled her key from her pocket and unlocked the door, stepping through and holding the it open for Clarke. Clarke squeezed her hand in wordless thanks. It was a common gesture and eased out the last of the tension between them.

“I’ll take a quick shower. I don’t have time to start the pasta now, but I’ll get it done before moon rise so you can have it tonight.”

Raven furrowed her brow at her as Clarke started upstairs to the two bedrooms. “Is that wise?” she asked.

“It’ll be fine, Raven.” Clarke assured. The prospect of her famous macaroni seemed too important to let paranoia ruin, so in a rare show Raven simply shrugged and revealed her usual toothy grin.

“Lovely.” She closed the door and locked the door chain. “You haven’t made it in ages.”

The moment Clarke was in her room she felt her smile drop. She breathed in the familiar smells—her eyes narrowing slightly when she caught a whiff Raven, who had probably gone through and ‘borrowed’ something of hers—before she just shook her head and headed for the bathroom. Quietly she pulled the hoodie over her head, wincing at the muscles it pulled. Why her wolf couldn’t just be content and _not_ throw itself against a wall of metal she didn’t know.

She slipped off the trackies and crammed the clothes into the corner of the tiled bathroom, except just as she walked over to get into the shower she froze, her eyes catching herself in the mirror above the sink. Clarke slowly stepped back, rotating her shoulder to expose her side. She swore under her breath.

Her skin was a blotched mess down her side. No wonder it hurt so much to move. She’d bruised herself up from hip to shoulder. Clarke sighed—she had no idea what the sound was filled with, all she knew was that it was heavy and old—before she simply grit her teeth and slid open the shower door. She stepped in and turned on the water, twisting the knob as hard and as hot as it could go.

When it finally reached a temperature hot enough that it almost burned, Clarke tilted her head up and let it drown her. She closed her eyes and just let it wash over her. Scrambled for those flashes of warmth, the feel of it against skin, no matter how painful, no matter how much it made her clench her jaw.

But when she eventually looked down at her hands she saw them still stained with their imaginary red.

It didn’t do anything of how hard she scrubbed, how high she turned up the water.

She would always be covered in blood.

She went through the process of cleaning herself methodically, without her mind ever being present for it. There was only one thing on her mind, and it was that moment, how she was terrified for it now but had been excited then. The cyclist. The blood. Their heartbeat, their sweat, their _smell_. The way it had urged her, tried so hard to break the surface. Because she had _craved_ it, had wanted it so bad that it made her sick.

She couldn’t stop shaking the entire shower.

-

An hour later Clarke found herself sitting at the small dining table near the kitchen. Her hair was still a little wet, the neck of her shirt damp, but Clarke paid no mind as she started on her fourth—or was it her fifth?—sandwich. She was halfway into a bite when she heard Raven’s familiar shuffle of feet, the girl soon appearing around the corner and making her way to the fridge without looking at her. Clarke perhaps knew what was about to happen before it did. The second Raven was in the kitchen and opened the fridge Clarke slowly put the sandwich down.

She heard a sharp curse, and then all of sudden Raven was spinning around and glaring at her. “For the love of everything holy, please do not tell me you’ve goddamn raided the fridge _again_.”

Clarke swallowed the bite of her sandwich. She pretended plates of eaten food didn’t surround her and crumbs weren’t smeared on her lips. “…I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Raven slammed the fridge door closed. “For fuck sakes Griffin!” she shouted and Clarke threw up her arms.

“You know how hungry I am after turning!” she defended, and it was true, while she usually always had a bigger appetite in general, during the days of her turning it was always worse. The amount of energy it required for her body to rip apart, unsurprisingly, was a lot.

“How many times do I have to remind you that there are _two_ people in this household. Two. You _and_ me. Eating everything and leaving me to starve is a dick move—and this isn’t even the first time you’ve done this!”

“I’ll go shopping after brunch,” Clarke rushed out, standing up and raising a placating hand. “The grocery shopping is over due anyway.”

Raven scoffed and shook her head at her. She walked towards her. “Uh, no, you aren’t shopping. Not without supervision. We’ll go together.”

Clarke gaped at her. “Why not? I’m an adult, Raven.”

“Really? Do I need to bring up what happened last year?” Clarke slowly began to shrink into herself as she realised what Raven was talking of. “Hm? You remember, in the summer?”

“That was different.” Clarke retorted, raising a finger. “It was _just_ before moon rise. It wasn’t my fault.”

Raven stared at her. “You fucking took a bite out of raw meat in the _middle of the store_.”

“It was different!” Clarke defended indignantly.

“Anyone could have seen you! Honestly, bless the poor soul who would have found that packet.” She glared at her. “For someone who’s spent years trying to hide the fact they’re a werewolf, you really are terrible at it. It’s a miracle you guys haven’t been found out.”

Clarke huffed. “That was different,” she muttered with a scowl, grabbing the plate with her half eaten sandwich. She offered Raven a sheepish grin as she held up the plate. “You can have my sandwich?”

Raven narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You won’t rip my throat out if I do?”

“No, of course not.” She shrugged. “Not yet at least.”

“Very reassuring Griffin,” Raven deadpanned, but Clarke caught how her eyes stayed glued to the offered food. She was powerless to suppress her smirk when she heard Raven growl and snatch the plate from her hands. “Fucking werewolves. Goddamn nuisances you are.”

“Love you too Rae,” Clarke grinned, slipping past her and ducking out in time to miss Raven’s slap at the back of her head. Clarke laughed as she heard Raven’s snarl while she headed for the stairs.

“Using werewolf reflexes is cheating!” she shouted after her.

“It’s out of my control!” Clarke threw back, enjoying it probably a tad too much of Raven’s irritated huff. She sniggered under her breath as she made her way up the stairs. Her smile wavered at the pain, her hand coming out to rest against the cream coloured walls. When she finally made it to her room she was relieved. Slowly she limped her way in, opening up her chest of drawers and trying to decide what she was going to wear to meet with her mother today. She needed something that was causal but not too casual, formal but not too formal. Considering what shaky ground she was with her mother currently, she honestly had no idea the atmosphere she’d be walking in on.

She hadn’t seen her months. It was partly due to her mother’s constant work schedule, but it was also due to them both purposely avoiding each other’s calls, knowing the same fight that always broke out on the rare occasion one of them picked up. It was a little better now at least, when Clarke called her four weeks ago they actually managed a relatively civil conversation. Except near the end, when _the_ topic came up like it always did, like a cloud of smoke that infested their lungs and refused to move on.

It was the same question every time.

 _Why_?

Why did you drop out? Why did you give up? _Why_ did you abandon the career set out for you? And like every time, Clarke couldn’t say a thing, could only grit her teeth and take her mother’s bite and confusion. Because she couldn’t tell her the _actual_ reason she dropped out of med school in pursuit of becoming a doctor like her, no, as if she did her mother would either throw her into a psych ward or try and fix the problem herself.

And there was no way that Clarke was letting her mother near her. Not with what happened last time to the people she cared about.

Sometimes when she wasn’t thinking she could still taste his blood.

Clarke slammed the drawers shut. Her hands were shaking. “You’re fine,” she breathed, closing her eyes and forcing a calming breath. “You’re okay.”

She waited till her breaths weren’t shaking anymore. Then, nodding to herself, she opened her eyes and continued on with her search for something to wear. This time she was far quicker, and the moment she had her clothes on—taking care to choose something that hid the bruising at her sides—she sighed and left the room.

She came upon Raven cleaning up downstairs. Her head popped up from where she was attempting to balance six plates in her arms. “Oh hey, you don’t look like complete shit.”

“It’s your support that keeps me going Raven.” Clarke deadpanned, but quickly she hurried over to Raven and her hands shot out when the stack of plates in Raven’s grip swayed dangerously. “Let me,” Clarke tried and in no surprise Raven scowled.

“I can do it.” She assured, her voice tight as she stepped back. Clarke knew it was pointless in forcing it. Raven was someone who was dependent on herself and only herself, and it was only through years of friendship that Raven was even mildly okay with her just holding the door open for her. But Clarke trailed just a step behind her, because she could see how Raven’s grip on the precarious tower of plates wasn’t entirely stable, and it all took was one slightly off balance step for it to happen.

Clarke saw it before Raven did. It felt like time was in slow motion when she lurched around Raven in a truly impressive bend and caught the collapsing stack from the other side. Raven stared at her wide eyed as Clarke let through a relieved breath, keeping her hands bracketing the sides of the plates.

Wordlessly, Raven slowly deposited the plates fully into Clarke’s grip. The weight, while clearly having been heavy for Raven, it was nothing for Clarke and it was near effortless as she quickly carried them over to the kitchen. After she’d put down the stack she turned around to find Raven rubbing the back of her neck.

“Maybe your werewolf reflexes aren’t too bad.” She mumbled under her breath.

Clarke couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Raven’s reluctant admission. “Could you write that down on paper for me?” she teased, and as she’d hoped it made Raven glare at her—but it also made the disappointment and embarrassment she could sense off her dissipate a little.

“Smart ass.” She muttered. Still, her shoulders relaxed and there was a smile trying to tug at her lips. “You need a ride for your mum’s?”

Clarke rolled her eyes as she slipped past her. “I’ll be fine, Raven.”

“Yeah? You reckon you can drive in your state?”

Clarke paused from where she’d been walking for the door. She could practically _hear_ Raven’s smirk from behind her. With a sigh Clarke slowly turned around, and, low and behold, Raven was indeed smirking at her. Clarke didn’t know whether to curse her body or the fact she was slap bang in the middle of her turning days. She decided to curse both.

“Fine.” She raised a finger as just as Raven’s mouth opened. “But no insults on the way there. I’m nervous enough.”

For a second Clarke thought Raven looked sympathetic, but the look passed too quickly to register. Instead she watched as Raven grabbed her leather jacket off the coat rack before she slid past her and opened the door. “Come on then wolfie, let’s not be late.”

“You _still_ haven’t given up that nickname?” Clarke said with a groan, following after her and closing the door, checking briefly to make sure it was locked. Raven cackled as she threw her head back at her.

“Not even in your dreams Griffin.”

-

Clarke was being a coward.

She knew she was being ridiculous. It was stupid what she was doing. All she was achieving was putting off the inevitable. She stood outside the café she was meeting with her mother at, hiding in the alleyway just beside and attempting to muster the courage to walk in. Raven had dropped her and sped off the second Clarke’s feet had touched the pavement, shouting to her how she had multiple experiments and inventions to go set her brilliant brain on. Clarke didn’t actually doubt her on that. Raven was an asshole, but the girl was a damn genius.

For a moment, Clarke looked down at her hands. She spread her fingers, clenched her fists, and she wondered how something so small held so much destruction. It made her think of her father oddly. She had always loved his hands. They were big and rough, but in contrast they were also incredibly gentle and precise. He was an engineer and such they were always at least a _little_ bit dirty, smeared black with grease from whatever project he was tinkering on in the garage.

She’d never understood it. How those hands could do so much, feel so different yet the same. Clarke tried to remember how they felt whenever they gripped hers. She could remember the feeling it gave her, the warmth that’d always bloom in her chest like she was _home_. But the texture—the texture she couldn’t quite place. She knew it was rough, but how rough had it been? Had he always had thick fingers or was she just confusing it for something else?

Clarke let the back of her head fall into the brick wall behind her.

It didn’t matter the strain that she had with her mother currently. How keeping the two of them in the same room had a fifty-fifty chance of a civil war. She was all she had left of their family. It was only her now; _he_ was gone.

And she owed this to him.

So Clarke grit her teeth and pushed herself off the wall.

A bell went off as she carefully eased the door open, making Clarke wince and—of course—instantly attract attention. The café was small, probably had no more than three customers in the cozy little shop, so it took less than a second for her to see her mother anxiously sitting at one of the small coffee tables near the back. Her head snapped to the door at the ring of the bell and Clarke could practically _smell_ her mother’s relief from here. She watched the timid yet bright smile that Abby grew and Clarke forced herself to return it.

She took a deep breath, but just as she made her way over the barista called her name as she passed. “Hey Clarke,” Niylah greeted, and Clarke relaxed a little at the familiar face. Clarke came to this café often when she needed her caffeine fix and hence had gotten to know the friendly barista over many of her coffee runs.

“Hi Niylah,” Clarke smiled. “I can’t talk sadly, I’m meeting with someone.”

“Yeah, your mother right?” Niylah asked, her eyes flicking to Abby who was still hopefully staring out at Clarke like she was going to disappear at any moment. Clarke didn’t really blame her. It had happened once before a few years ago. Niylah seemed to sense her hesitance because she offered her a reassuring smile. “Can I get you anything?”

For a moment Clarke was going to say no, worrying that caffeine during her turning could prove a little dangerous, but then she felt the pulse of the bone-deep tiredness she was barely concealing and caved. “Yeah, just the usual thanks.”

Niylah nodded and let her go.

Clarke sucked in a sharp breath before she approached her mother. She watched as Abby jumped to her feet. For a moment Clarke let herself take her mother in, eyes flicking up and down. She looked well, thankfully, so this meeting wasn’t to drop any devastating news. Her clothes weren’t overly formal but surprisingly casual for the usually tidied up mother she’d gotten used too. However Clarke did notice the slight tension in her frame, the tightness in her shoulders—she could even scent her anxiety.

“Hi,” Abby breathed, looking unsurely caught between wanting to hug her or just sitting down.

“Hey Mum,” Clarke greeted, and though she was nervous too, there was genuine warmth behind her words. With a mental _fuck it_ she stepped forward and pulled her mother into a quick embrace.

Her mother didn’t miss the opportunity. Instantly she was swept in a far tighter and personal hug than she’d planned, but she found that she wasn’t opposed to it. Instead she actually felt herself melt into it, pulling her arms around Abby tighter, subconsciously drawing her nose to her mother’s neck and breathing in. At smelling her mother’s usual scent she felt a coil unravel in her chest. She just barely bit back the content rumble that wanted to shake her throat.

Raven loved to tease her to shreds whenever she made the primal sound.

Bloody werewolf biology.

“I’ve missed you,” Abby whispered into her hair and Clarke let out a shaky breath.

“Me too.” She admitted quietly. Slowly, she extracted herself from her grip, offering a timid smile. Her mother quickly pulled her a chair and Clarke murmured a soft thanks as she and her sat down. Clarke could feel the tension settling in between them and decided to attempt to break it. “This place is nice, right?”

Abby looked relieved for an opener in conversation. “Yes, definitely,” she glanced around the café. “It’s gorgeous.”

Clarke hummed in agreement. She joined her mother in their sudden appraisal of the place. It was small, the walls made of redbrick, elegant fairy lights suspended high near above. Naked light bulbs hung from the ceiling, offering a warm glow to the small circular wooden tables, a black chalkboard with eloquent loopy handwriting of different coffees and cakes.

“So,” Abby started nervously, and Clarke brought her gaze off the walls where a host of framed photos lay, meeting her mother’s eyes. “How have you been?” she frowned slightly, “you look a little tired.”

Clarke shrugged off the bags under her eyes. “I’m fine, just a couple of rough days. That time of the month, you know.”

Her mother gave her sympathetic look and thankfully seemed to buy it.

For a moment Clarke let herself dream what it’d be like if ‘time of the month’ meant what it used to mean.

“It’ll pass,” Clarke said, trying to force her mind off such depressing thoughts. “How about you?”

Her mother nodded nervously. “I’ve been… good, actually.”

Clarke smiled. “That’s good.” She offered, and she meant it. They shared smiles that made Clarke’s heart ache before she felt her shoulders tense. It was strange how her body tended to react before her mind did. Not a moment later Niylah appeared and placed down a mug of steaming coffee in front of her.

“With extra cream, just as you like it.” Niylah winked.

She gave her a smile, offering her thanks as Niylah grinned and walked away. Clarke looked up to her mother and realised she had nothing on the table. Her brow creased. “Are you not having anything?”

“I’ve already had something, don’t worry,” Abby assured, but it only made Clarke’s stomach drop.

“Shit, I wasn’t late was I? Did I get the time wrong or—“

“Clarke,” Abby cut off, leaning across and gently touching her wrist. “You’re fine. It was me who was here early.”

Clarke released a relieved breath. “Oh. Good.”

“Yes, good. Also,” she narrowed her eyes. “I know I taught you better language than that.”

“I _am_ an adult now, you know.”

“And I’m still you’re mother.”

They held each other’s stare in a familiar contest of who would give in first. Clarke had gotten her fierce stubbornness from her mother, so it was often a common theme between them—especially when Clarke had grown into a teenager—of a stare off. In the end, Clarke won, but Clarke thought she only did because Abby broke into a smile once she realised what was happening. That they were falling into old habits.

It gave Clarke relief that it was even still possible.

Coffee with her mother actually went surprisingly well. Of course, this was probably due to the fact that they both steered _far_ clear of the bombshell of a topic that always seemed to weasel its way into any of their talks. Clarke kept the conversation off that topic though. They talked of lighter things, what shows she’d been watching and what movies she’d seen, some of the more embarrassing cases Abby had dealt with at the hospital that had them both laughing in pitying chuckles, all the things they’d gotten up to in these months apart.

Clarke sipped the last of her coffee down, feeling it warm pleasantly down her throat. Despite the needed dose of energy, her tiredness was returning, and she figured if she wanted to be alive _at all_ at work tomorrow she needed to nap before moonrise. Plus she had to make that pasta or Raven would most definitely kill her.

“It’s been good seeing you, Mum,” Clarke muttered softly, and it both pained and lightened her to see the sad smile Abby gave her.

Her mother swallowed, and suddenly all that subtle nervousness and trepidation that had been hiding between them rose up at once. “Clarke there’s—“ she closed her eyes, clasping her hands in front of her and forcing her breath. Clarke pretended dread wasn’t clawing up her spine when Abby’s gaze locked on hers once more. “Clarke there’s something I have to tell you. It’s not bad,” she rushed to say, seeming to realise how ominous and typically terrifying those words could be. “Well, I don’t think it is. It depends on how you feel.”

“What are you on about Mum?” Clarke questioned slowly. Abby released a trembling exhale.

“I’m moving here.” She said simply and Clarke stilled. “To Polis.”

“You’re…” Clarke shook her head. “What? _Why_?”

Abby let out a shaky laugh. “You _are_ my daughter Clarke.”

Clarke couldn’t help the bite in her tone. This had sprung on her out of nowhere. “Yeah, and I’ve lived here for three years.” She shot back snidely.

Abby pulled in a sharp breath. “Clarke,” she said softly but it was too much to hear the gentleness and warmth in her tone. She had been ignored by her for _years_ —this was the first she was seeing her in person in months for fuck’s sake. And now, what, she was just going to suddenly jump in out of nowhere?

“No, what the _hell_? What about your job? The hospital?”

Clarke could tell Abby tried to hide it, but she could see the hurt in her eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do something different for a while. There’s a hospital here that have already accepted me.” She shrugged. “It will be quieter from the city, but I think that will be better.”

“You can’t just—“ she pushed out an aggravated sigh. “When are you moving then?”

Abby looked so incredibly sad as she watched her daughter. “I’m already halfway done with the moving crew. It should be finished up in the next few days.”

Clarke slumped into her chair. She scoffed. “I can’t believe you.” She muttered. “After all this time and you suddenly just—“

“It’s not just for you, Clarke.” Abby cut off, and her voice was somehow both sharp and gentle, in the way that only she seemed to be able to do. “I’ve… I’m tired, with the constant work. I want something different. You found something here,” and she looked up to her then, and Clarke swallowed the rock in her throat. “Maybe I can too.” She murmured.

Clarke blinked away the wetness in her eyes, averting her gaze to the side.

“This can be a good thing Clarke, I’m sure of it. I know that I've…” she sighed with a shake of the head. “I know that I should have been better. I shouldn’t have… pushed you away so hard, even if I don’t understand, of why you left and came here.”

Clarke slowly brought her gaze back.

Abby bit her lip. “I’ll leave it, okay? I swear, I won’t, I won’t bring it up. You’re right, I shouldn’t have cut off contact for something so trivial. You’re my daughter.” She swallowed heavily. “Love shouldn’t be conditional.”

Despite the bitter anger that still lurked in her heart, having been built up all these years, the brief flash of hope she felt Clarke clung onto with all her being. She offered a stiff nod. Abby seemed to sag with relief.

“Just, just may I ask one thing? Then we can forget it, never talk of it again.”

Clarke waited for several moments before she bobbed her head.

Abby leaned forward, creasing her brows as she stared at her. “Are you happy?” she asked, and her voice was quiet, soft and genuine like when she was little, before everything had gone to such complete and utter _shit_.

Clarke felt her throat get blocked up. She couldn’t breathe. Her mother was looking at her with such pleading, such open and unabashed sincerity. Like her answer could change the way the earth spun. Clarke opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead what came out was a shaky breath.

She didn’t think she was happy. Not with the way she currently was. She thought she could get there, if certain things changed, if she truly made the effort. If she was in the small town of Polis for a completely different reason than the actual, Clarke thought she’d be quite happy. She worked in the art store and she painted on her own schedule, in those moments—in those _human_ moments—she was happy.

But the others. The warehouse hidden with the woods. That box inside. The cell within.

The monster within _her_.

With that, she wasn’t happy. She didn’t think she ever could be.

“Clarke,” Abby breathed, and Clarke saw how voice trembled with tears that were threatening to fall. “Clarke please, just talk to me. Let me help you. You’re not alone.”

Clarke pretended her eyes weren’t burning. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, and she bit her lip, shook her head. “But you can’t help me. Not with this.”

“With what?” Abby leaned forward, as if she could reach across and physically pull the confession out of her with her hands. “Clarke, please just—“

“I’m sorry.” Clarke rushed out, hastily jumping out of her seat and hurrying for the exit. She had already paid before and Clarke was grateful, as it meant she could make a beeline for the door and shoulder her way through, hastening across the pavement when she hit it. She jerked to the left and quickly jumped into the alleyway, pressing herself against the wall and screwing her eyes shut. She heard the door ring again as someone swung it open and Clarke knew it was her mother. She took in a deep breath and focused her hearing.

Her mother didn’t say a word at first. She just sighed. A sigh so sad that Clarke felt tears force themselves down her cheeks. And then, just as Clarke thought she’d given up and was going to head home, she heard her quiet mutter.

“You were always so much better at this.”

Clarke knew she was talking about Jake.

She let her back slide against the wall as she moved to sit down on the ground. She let her legs stretch out, bringing up one knee and tilting her head back. “Fuck.” She whispered.

She didn’t know how long she spent sat there, but her eyes snapped open when she felt someone approach her. She relaxed at seeing it was Niylah, the blonde nearing her with a nervous smile. “You alright?” she asked, though the answer was pretty obvious, considering she was hiding in a dirty alleyway on the ground.

“Just dandy.” Clarke muttered, offering her a grin that she hoped hid how much she felt like she was teetering at the edge of oblivion.

Niylah sighed and shook her head. “Come on, a pretty girl like you doesn’t belong in a place like this.” She reached out her hand, and though Clarke hesitated, in the end she caved and took the offering and let her pull her up. Clarke dusted herself off once she was up. “And anyway, with that girl getting killed last night, I don’t think it’s the best idea to be out alone in dank alleyways right now.”

Clarke’s head snapped up. “What? What girl?”

Niylah frowned at her. “You don’t know?”

When Clarke shook her head Niylah reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. “Here,” she said, opening up the latest news site and handing it to her. An article that was released just this morning was shown to her. “They say it was an animal but… I don’t know what sort of animal could do what it did to her.”

Clarke’s eyes took in the words greedily. They zipped back and forth as she whizzed through the article. She felt her blood run cold at what she read.

Niylah wasn’t lying, a girl had been kill last night. The body—what remained of it—had been found this morning. Polis was a small town, and hence very little exciting things occurred. More often than not there’ll leave paragraphs of missing pets and the discount at that market everyone loves. So an attack like this, a _killing_ like this, was basically unprecedented. According to the article they had yet to identify the body, as it was mauled and torn beyond belief, making it incredibly difficult. She was quite literally ripped apart. The hiker who’d stumbled upon the body in the woods had puked at the sight of it. The picture he’d taken had been leaked and when Clarke saw it she felt her stomach clench.

“They suspect it a wild dog attack,” Clarke breathed aloud, mostly because at reading it she felt her entire body lock up and her breathing nearly give out.

Niylah clicked her tongue from beside her. She gently pried her phone from Clarke’s hands. “The teeth marks in the bones makes them think it was a dog or something, but the size? Some say it was a bear. Never mind we don’t even _have_ bears.”

“I need to go,” Clarke muttered, not looking at Niylah as she walked past her with determined steps. Niylah frowned from behind her.

“Is something wrong?” she called after her, but Clarke didn’t bother to reply, feeling numb as she bolted the moment she was out the alleyway. She ran as fast as her legs could take her, ignoring the scream of pain from her bruised side and the ache of exhaustion behind her eyes. She didn’t care. She needed to get home, she needed to _know_.

A dog the size of bear. Last night. On the full moon. It had to be a werewolf.

There was only one werewolf she knew of that lived in this town.

And that was her.

-

Clarke slammed the front door open.

She had sprinted as fast as physically possible—which was _incredibly_ fast—she was breathing hard and sweating but she didn’t hesitate when she staggered into the apartment and sniffed deeply, straining her hearing. At the flicker of noise upstairs and the more recent trail of Raven’s scent she blurred up them and near shoved her way into Raven’s room.

Raven was on the phone while she sat on her bed, her computer in her lap as she stared up at her wide-eyed. “Clarke what the—“

“Get off the phone.” Clarke snapped. “We need to talk. Now.”

Raven frowned at her, though it was threatening to morph into a scowl. “This is important Clarke.”

Clarke felt a snarl claw its way up her throat and she burst forward, the only thing stopping her from getting to Raven being the foot of the bed. Raven lurched back with a yelp.

“Okay, okay! You win, I’m hanging up!” she muttered a hurried goodbye before throwing her phone across the floor. “There, see? Out of my hands. I’m all yours.”

Clarke’s teeth were still bared, but her snarl fell away. “Off.”

Raven jumped up. She raised placating hands as Clarke slowly stalked her way around the bed. “Clarke, whatever it is that—“

Her words were cut off when Clarke suddenly lunged forward and shoved her into the wall. She pinned Raven’s arms above her head and growled low enough that her throat _burned_. Raven sucked in a sharp breath, exposing her neck. Clarke could smell her fear.

“Look at me.” Clarke muttered low. Raven, whose eyes had been closed, tentatively opened them, meeting Clarke’s intense stare. “Don’t lie to me. I will know if you are.”

Raven swallowed before nodding her head.

Clarke tried to keep her voice steady. “Did I escape last night?”

Raven frowned at her. “No, of course not.”

Clarke tightened her grip on her and Raven winced. “You are _sure_? Completely and utterly sure?” she pushed, having to know without a doubt, ignoring the relief that threatened to curl in her chest.

“I was outside like I always am for the night. Had my little tent and everything. There was banging, I think you were throwing yourself against the bars,” Clarke listened to her heartbeat and breathing, and while Raven’s heart was thundering, she didn’t think it was because she was lying. “But you didn’t escape. There were no signs of it. There is no way whatsoever.”

Clarke practically collapsed relief, stepping back and releasing Raven. She sat on the edge of Raven’s bed and let her face fall into her hands. “Fuck,” she breathed, dipping her head downward and threading her fingers through her hair. “Oh thank _fuck_.”

It wasn’t her. The kill wasn’t her. She had been in the cage all night, she hadn’t gotten out, it was fine, she was _fine_. She felt she was going to cry with the relief. Clarke raised her head and let her hands fall. Her eyes flicked to the side to see Raven staring at her, her entire body coiled with uneasy tension.

“I’m sorry.” Clarke started. Raven didn’t move any closer to her. “I just… a girl was killed last night. A dog attack, she was torn apart—there is no way that a simple dog did that. It had to have been a…”

“Werewolf.” Raven finished quietly. Understanding dawned in her eyes and her shoulders relaxed, if only fractionally. “You thought you killed her.”

Clarke nodded stiffly. “Yeah. I can’t… I can’t deal with it Raven. If I had done it, it would have—“

“I know,” Raven cut off with a sigh. She shook her head—though Clarke didn’t know who it was directed at—before, if with a bit of hesitancy, she pushed herself off the wall and approached her. Clarke knew she treaded shaky ground and deliberately kept her body posture soft and small. Her eyes followed her as Raven knelt down in front of her. She pulled Clarke’s trembling hands into her own.

Raven gave the smallest of smiles as she looked up at her.

“I understand, alright? Not completely, of course, I never could. But you know that if you _had_ been the one to kill that girl, I would have told you. I wouldn’t have kept you in the dark.”

Clarke hung her head in shame, but she felt careful fingers tilting her chin back up.

“Hey,” and Raven squeezed her hands gently as she whispered the words soft, “I’ll let you off, for now. I know how it’s harder on your turning days. Holding back on wolfie instinct and all.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked quietly and was relieved when Raven shook her head.

“Just my pride.” Raven smirked and Clarke couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re an idiot,” she insulted fondly. Raven playfully pushed her back.

“And you’re an alpha constantly needing to show how big a dick you have.”

Clarke barked a laugh at that and pushed Raven back, rolling her eyes when Raven dramatically fell to the floor like she’d been shot. “Never change Raven,” She smiled. Raven smirked at her as she craned her neck up.

“I had no such intention.”

Clarke kicked her foot and Raven grinned.

-

“God, I take back everything I’ve ever said Griffin, this fucking macaroni is _divine._ ” Raven moaned, shoveling more of the apparently heavenly pasta into her mouth. Clarke rolled her eyes from where she walked next to her. Since she’d actually gotten home on time, they had been able to drive down to the woods together, the moon still not risen as the pair strolled through the dark forest.

Clarke watched mildly impressed as Raven both somehow wolfed down forkfuls of pasta from the thermos they’d brought and jumped over fallen logs and rocks at the same time. “I’m glad you like it Raven.” Clarke smiled.

“Like? Uh, no, I _love_. Really, if you weren’t so prone to killing things I’d have proposed by now.”

“Hey!” Clarke snapped, Raven lurching back just in time to miss Clarke’s swipe at the back of her head. She glared at her while Raven grinned. Her lips were smeared with pasta remains. “Pull an insult like that again and I won’t make you pasta ever again.”

But Raven just clicked her tongue. “Empty threats Griffin, empty threats.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes but unfortunately decided _against_ throwing Raven into a tree.

She could feel the buzz in her bones. She knew she was near; the hypersensitivity that always came before moonrise was hitting. Every sound came across so much clearer usual, the world looking sharper and more precise, so many complex scents settling themselves in her nose. She was starting to sweat too, a layer of perspiration making her flushed skin sparkle.

They stepped out of the trees and into the familiar clearing, the aged warehouse staring back at them. Clarke adjusted the sleeping bag she had tucked under her arm, trying to ignore the cold sensation in her gut as Raven, finally, handed her the now empty flask of pasta to her free hand and skipped ahead to the door. She unlocked it and pushed it open, the metal door widening with a harsh screech that made Clarke cringe.

“Madame,” Raven teased, giving her mock bow as she gestured for her to go first. Clarke huffed as she slipped through. Raven’s antics had this odd talent of being both incredibly annoying and endearing simultaneously.

The warehouse was cold. Despite there being no lights, she could see perfectly, and without words Clarke reached a hand back and gently grabbed Raven’s elbow so she could guide her. Possibly the only reason Raven didn’t immediately snatch her arm back was that she knew pissing off a werewolf right before the rise of the full moon was most probably _not_ the best of ideas.

She reached the box sat near the end and tugged Raven forward. Clarke found herself feeling grateful that Raven went to instantly punch in the code without question. Time was slipping fast, and as the seconds wore on she was starting to feel her skin burn with her nerves—or maybe it had already felt like it was burning. The sounds of loud metallic clunks and a hiss made Clarke step back as the massive door slowly started to slide open.

The artificial lights flickered on as she walked on. Clarke checked her watch.

Five minutes.

Clarke stood still as Raven strode past her and went to open the barred cell door. It jerked open with a grunt from Raven, but Clarke didn’t approach her just yet, getting that cold feeling again in her stomach. Her fingers twitched anxiously as she glanced behind her.

“Clarke? You coming?”

Clarke took a breath. She knew what the feeling in her gut was.

Dread.

“Clarke?” Raven tried again when Clarke continued staring out behind her. She looked through the gap of the open door.

Raven stayed the night during her turns. She had this little tent that they’d set up in the warehouse—Clarke had gotten her a fancy three room one for her as a gift last year—as Raven was the only one who could open the boxed cell, and she was the only person that Clarke trusted. If anything were to go wrong, Raven would be close and able to react. They had safety measures, of course, in the _very_ unlikely scenario that Clarke somehow escaped from the _two_ cell doors, but they’d never used them.

Clarke had drilled it into Raven’s head countless times anyway.

Always put her own life first. If she ever fears for her safety: do not treat her like a human. Clarke could tell that Raven was still a little uncomfortable with the promise, but Clarke didn’t care, still she made her swear, made it _clear_ and _precise_. When she turns, that isn’t her.

That was a monster bred to kill.

And with that thought in mind, Clarke slowly turned back and met Raven’s gaze. “I don’t think you should sleep outside tonight.”

Raven frowned. Her hand still held open the cell door expectantly. “What, why?”

“I don’t think it’s safe.” Clarke muttered. Her skin grew itchy and she fought off the wave of nausea. “I think you should… stay in here.”

“You think it’s safer _in here_? Clarke,” Raven chuckled, but it was far from a warm sound. “You do realise how incredibly stupid that is, right? Like, putting me even closer to the massive werewolf that would kill me in an instant?”

“Raven—“

“For fuck sake’s, I lingered yesterday and just my smell alone drove you mad! I heard you banging against the bars Clarke. One _whiff_ and you wanted out. You really think putting me in the same goddamn room is a smart idea?”

“Of course not,” Clarke snapped. She let through a shuddered breath and tried to force herself to calm down. “Raven,” she tried again, her voice soft now, pleading and calm. “That girl was murdered last night, and we both know that it had to have been done by a werewolf. Meaning,” and Clarke stepped forward, watching as Raven swallowed nervously. “That there is another werewolf out there. That isn’t me. I haven’t scented anything but humans in this town, and by what happened last night… I highly doubt it’s friendly.”

Raven furrowed her brows. “You think it will come? Tonight?”

“It’s the full moon. It will be out again, that girl, she was found in these woods.”

“These woods are massive,” Raven waved off, but Clarke could smell her nerves now. She was starting to believe her. “The chances of it finding us, even _if_ it is stalking the woods, are still incredibly low.”

“I can’t risk you Raven.” Clarke clenched her fists. “I can’t lose you too.” She whispered quietly, and that was what seemed to do it, as Raven’s shoulders slacked and she closed her eyes. Her sigh was low and frustrated—but more importantly, it was of defeat.

“Fine.” Raven muttered, opening her eyes if only so she could glare at her. “But if you end up killing me I’m haunting your ass till the end of time. And trust me,” she narrowed her eyes. “I’ll be a terrifying ghost.”

Clarke couldn’t help her relieved grin. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Raven rolled her eyes, sweeping her arm out. “Come on, in you get, it’ll start any second now.” Clarke, for once, let her shoo her into her cell. The moment she was in she pretended she didn’t feel the hairs on her neck rise, a foreign burst of anger exploding in her chest.

 _Free_ , she heard the voice beg, but Clarke scowled and pushed herself further back.

“No.” Clarke muttered out loud. Raven shot her an odd look but said nothing.

It was just as her fingers had dug into her shirt to pull it off that the stab of pain hit, making her curse and drop to her knees, her hand clutching at her stomach. She waited for the burst to pass before gripping her shirt again, but she was faster than before and her movements were near frantic as she quickly pulled her shirt off. The bruises at her side ached in protest but Clarke ignored it.

She had only just finished undressing herself when the next one came, harder and sharper at her chest. Clarke grit her teeth, panting and grunting as the waves of it started slamming into her more frequently. It was more habit than anything that Clarke’s eyes flicked to Raven as she lay hunched on the floor, bent on all fours and feeling sweat burrow down the sides of her head. Raven stared at her with wide eyes. It occurred to Clarke that it had been a while since Raven had last seen her turn, as usually she slipped out before it could begin. Then there was the sudden sound of a bone snapping and a scream tore itself out of her throat.

But she was done holding on. Done fighting it.

Her eyes rolled back and the world was gone.

-

Raven stepped back as she watched the turning of her best friend’s body.

It was a brutal, brutal, process, and as if the blood curdling screams that shook the room weren’t enough proof of that, the sheer intensity and merciless made it clear. It came it hard bursts, Clarke’s body jerking roughly, muscles expanding themselves out from her shoulders, her toes digging into the cold floors as they pushed back, her leg extending as she did so. Those familiar blonde curls began to shrink in as fur sprouted along her body, a truly gruesome _crunch_ as her spine pushed upwards.

Clarke was side on to her, meaning that Raven could see everything so painstakingly clearly, and she felt her blood freeze at the gut wrenching scream that broke out, the way it deepened and roughened as a snort forced its way through Clarke’s face. Eyes still screwed shut as the last of transformation tore through her. Her shouts and yells started to morph into grunts and snarls, and then all of a sudden it stopped—the screaming, the snapping, the _sounds_.

Silence, spare for Clarke’s labored breathing.

Though Raven knew it wasn’t Clarke anymore.

The werewolf’s eyes opened, and unlike before the blue was gone and it was this burning yellow. Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, that massive head swung to the side so it stared her dead in the eye. Raven felt her breath tangle in her throat.

Even if she was hunched now, standing on all fours, she was still fucking _massive_. If she stood up on her hinds her pointed ears would brush the ceiling. She approached Raven slow, those yellow eyes not once moving of her, but while Raven was sure as shit goddamn _terrified_ , she couldn’t help but marvel at Clarke slightly.

She truly looked like the stuff of nightmares. Raven had watched Twilight—last year on Clarke’s birthday, solely because the scowl she got from her best friend made her double over laughing—but when Raven thought of _those_ werewolves, simply humongous versions of their smaller counterparts, she noticed that Clarke was different.

She was still obviously a wolf. But there was something oddly human about the look of her. The heavily muscled chest, bulging arms that looked like they could crush steel without breaking a sweat, and most of all, her front paws which weren’t actually paws at all. But large, dangerously sharp claws, spread in a hand-like shape. When she walked on all fours it gave the appearance of a normal paw with just _really_ fucking long nails, but Raven knew that if she wanted she could lift them and spread them. Grab things with them.

Tear things with them.

Raven was so used to the quiet that when Clarke roared she staggered so far back she almost tripped and fell. She jumped when Clarke snarled and lunged at the bars, presumably in attempt to get to her, only to be instantly forced back by the wall of metal. It didn’t stop her. She barked and she snarled and she _roared_ so loud that Raven’s ears started to ring.

She pressed herself against the door. Raven was breathing hard, adrenaline and fear making her usually cooperative brain fuzzy. She couldn’t think, not when all she could hear was the thundering of her pulse in her ears and the werewolf’s enraged and crazed sounds. Raven couldn’t believe she’d let Clarke talk her into this. No, no way, she didn’t care about Clarke’s fear about some other werewolf possibly being in town—the current werewolf _in front_ of her was the main problem, and a pretty fucking big one.

Her hand hovered over the keypad. Raven bit her lip, flinching when Clarke threw herself against the bars again, trying to shove her snout through the too-small gaps.

She should do it. Should just leave. If she slipped in quick enough in the morning Clarke would never even know, she didn’t remember what she did when she turned. If she told her she’d stayed, Clarke would believe her, simple as that. Raven could enjoy another day _not_ a pile of minced werewolf meat and live happily ever after.

Except…

“Fuck you Griffin,” Raven muttered under her breath. She sighed and brought her hand back to her side.

She’d gotten soft in her old age.

“Fine, you know what, _fine.”_ Raven threw up her arms, taking a step forward and swallowing when Clarke’s movements grew more frantic, more excited. Raven knew that the only thing keeping her alive right now was that wall of metal. She prayed to ever deity she knew that it would hold the night. She was mostly sure, if not completely, but Clarke had never been this rowdy before, this wild and aggressive. Raven groaned inwardly. Why couldn’t she have just been some big overgrown dog easily tamed with treats?

Raven paused.

Hold on.

She didn’t have treats, but she did have something. The bag of meat that she kept for Clarke in the morning. With hesitant steps, only inching as close as she dared, she approached the opposite side of the walls. Raven shuffled from the left side to the right and she watched as Clarke followed her, pacing and huffing as bared teeth gleamed at her. Holding her breath, she took her eyes off Clarke for the first time since she’d turned and crouched down by the esky she’d brought. She hastily flipped it open and pulled the plastic bag of meat out, eyes snapping up as fast she could to settle back onto Clarke. She finally felt herself breathe again when she saw Clarke still remaining the same.

“Alright Clarke, we’re gonna’ be smart about this, yeah?” Raven hooked the plastic bag through her wrist, before, if with a slight grimace, she reached inside and pulled up a steak of red meat. Clarke abruptly slammed herself into the bars the second it was out and Raven cursed as she stumbled back at the sudden movement. “Hey! Don’t do that!”

Clarke just snarled in response and repeated the action.

_Clang, clang, clang._

The bars rattled with every smack.

Raven felt fear climb up her throat and stagger her heart, so with panicked breaths she raised the meat high and raised her voice as loud and as commanding as she could. “Listen you furry bastard, _I_ would like to get some sleep tonight, and I cannot if you are constantly making all this fucking noise.” Clarke roared and Raven felt her bones vibrate with the sound. “This is how it’s going to be,” Raven growled, pulling herself up as much as she could. “ _You_ shut the fuck up, and I give you meat.”

Raven blinked when Clarke stopped throwing herself against the bars. Instead, the ginormous wolf paused, eyes narrowing. Its teeth were still bared and there was an echo of a low vibration of its growl—but it was far quieter from before, and the snarl and bone-chilling roar was gone.

Slowly, hesitantly, Raven took a step closer. “We got a deal?” she tried, raising a brow. She stretched her arm as far as it could go, the meat cool and wet in her fingers.

Clarke growled, ducking her head low as she paced forward. She pushed her muzzle as far as she could through the bars—which was pretty much just the tip of a large wet black nose—those eyes never once flicking off her. Gulping her fear and _really_ praying this wasn’t going to be how she’d die, she dared a few steps closer. The nearer she came the quieter Clarke got.

Raven stopped a couple metres from her. “Good, thank you,” she nodded, her chest finally not seizing up so intensely without the sounds of constant snarling. Yellow eyes continued staring straight into her. Raven sucked in a sharp breath before she threw the meat forward. It hit the bars, slapping to the floor, but like a flash of lightening it was close for enough for teeth to snag it and drag it into the cell. She chomped it down in two bites. Raven was sure those jaws could easily crush bones if she wanted to.

Clarke’s head popped back up when the meat was gone, trying to shove her muzzle through the bars again. While she was still _definitely_ terrifying and her body posture of the tense shoulders and flat ears with exposed teeth told her greatly of what would happen if that wall of metal wasn’t there, this time when the wolf stared up at her, there was something noticeably _less_ aggressive in her gaze.

Raven reached in the bag and pulled another steak out. “You stay quiet, and you get food, understand?”

The werewolf just stared at her.

She bit her lip before flinging the meat and just like before it was nabbed the second it hit the ground. Clarke maneuvered it through the gap in the bars and snatched the steak up. Raven released a relieved breath, as it seemed like her treat method was working. She even offered a shaky smile.

“See, not that hard, right?” she had two steaks left, but she figured maybe she should keep one in the off chance Clarke would act up again later during the night. She pulled out the slab of meat. “Alright, last one.”

She threw it, but her throw was weaker than she’d intended. It slapped onto the floor, but when Clarke tried to peak her nose through the bars she couldn’t reach it. Clarke whined and brought one of her front paws forward, extending a long sharp claw and trying to snag the meat. But, like before, it sat just out of reach. It wasn’t long till that whine turned into a snarl and Raven knew that sound meant nothing but death.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, it’s fine just,” Raven wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. “I’ll grab it and rethrow it, yeah?”

She retracted her paw, and while she still growled, she noticed her ears grew less stiff.

Raven swallowed thickly. “Alright. Okay. Guess it’s on me anyway for the shoddy throw.” She took in a breath. She’d be fine.

Slowly, staying on crouched knees, she shuffled a little closer. She leaned forward and reached a hand, but she couldn’t reach the meat. Clarke had gone completely still now. Those sharp yellow eyes tracked her every movement. Her breath shaking, she moved that tad bit nearer. Clarke’s head lowered. Raven took another step forward.

Never breaking eye contact with the werewolf, prepared to jump at even the _barest_ hint of movement, she leaned the closer she’d ever gone. The heartbeat that Raven was over that invisible line that signaled Clarke’s possible reach she snatched the meat and jumped back, feeling her heart splinter her ribcage. But the werewolf was still. She hadn’t moved.

Raven hung her head in her relief. She’d done it.

“Right,” she muttered, lifting her head and watching as Clarke’s rose with her. “Attempt the second.”

This time when she threw it she made sure it had enough power. Like the ones previous Clarke was able to snag it and drag it through the bars. She gobbled it down and Raven pushed herself to her feet, stepping back as she watched Clarke swing her head to meet her, red on her muzzle from the meat’s juices. It looked far too terrifying.

“I kept my word. You keep yours.”

Clarke’s ears twitched, but she watched as they relaxed from where they’d been flat against her head. Raven nodded at her.

“Alright. That’s good enough for me.” With the werewolf sorted—a sentence that really shouldn’t feel as normal as it did—Raven trod over to the far side and picked up her stuff. She rolled out her sleeping bag, grabbed the book she’d been knee-deep in yesterday and made herself comfy as she sat crossed legged on her ‘bed’ for the night. She opened up the page to her bookmark, her eyes flicking to side in habitual check of Clarke.

She was lying down now, snout on her paws as those yellow eyes drilled into her. She was as close to the metal as she could get. But she wasn’t throwing herself against it. There was no catastrophe of sound. No snarls or roars or barks. Just nothing but her and Clarke’s slow, steady breathing.

Raven broke the werewolf’s stare and focused on her book.

She ignored the prickled hairs on the back of her neck.

-

Raven woke up to the sound of a loud snarl.

She jolted upwards, cursing in Spanish at the abrupt sound and wincing at being so rudely awakened. She growled and blinked the sleep out of her eyes, glaring at the werewolf.

“Really? You give me what,” Raven leaned to the side and picked up her phone. She checked the time. It was three in the morning. “Five hours sleep and you deem that too much?”

Clarke’s growl echoed around the room, but Raven frowned as she watched her flatten her ears and lower her head, and it was only then that Raven realised the werewolf—for the first time—wasn’t actually looking at her. Raven sighed. She maneuvered herself free of her sleeping bag and stood up, stumbling just a little before her brain could catch up, wobbling over to the esky in the corner. She flung it open, pointedly ignoring how Clarke’s growl increased in volume, and grabbed the final steak.

“Alright you bastard, I’ve got your steak, can you shut up now?” Raven grumbled, her knees cracking at she stood back up.

But Clarke still hadn’t looked to her. Her eyes stayed dead set on the heavy steel door to the outside. Even if Raven knew that Clarke would have known the second she had meat in her hands, the werewolf still ignored her—the werewolf, who just a few hours ago meat was the only thing able to calm it.

Raven jumped when there was a sudden loud _bang_. The steak slipped from her fingers and smacked into the floor. At first Raven’s scathing glare was directed at Clarke, but still the werewolf didn’t look at her, and when a second sharp bang hit she saw that it wasn’t coming from Clarke. Raven’s head snapped to the steel door.

It was coming from outside.

Clarke snarled when another bang came, and this time she roared in response and tried to shove herself against the bars of metal as hard as she could. The metal rattled and made Raven’s blood go cold, but then the bang hit again and she felt it freeze up entirely. There was only one explainable reason for why Clarke was going crazy at the sounds of the banging. No way it was person, the steel was far too thick for the weight of the bangs that were coming. That werewolf, the one that had killed that girl yesterday.

It was here.

And it was trying to get in.

Raven hurried over to the other side, cringing at how close it brought her to the banging door, dropping to her knees and running her hands over the cold floors. Her hands stilled when they felt the groove. She dug her fingers in, and grunting with the effort she used all of her strength to lift it open. She managed the thin slab off with a gasp of exertion, but she didn’t give herself time to breath before she was shoving her hands in the hole and grabbing the tin box inside.

Clarke threw herself against the bars again, and now Raven was faced with a consistent bang of metal from both sides, the werewolf behind her and the werewolf just outside. Raven grabbed the padlock with sweaty hands and put in the three-digit code, her fingers slipping more than once as she adjusted the dials. Relief almost made her topple over when it clicked and she could yank it off.

Inside was a gun. Raven hastily took it into her hands, grabbing a clip and shoving it in. She double-checked that the gun was fine before she kicked the tin box with her foot to the side so it wasn’t in the way. She raised the handgun and pointed it to the door.

Normal bullets weren’t effective against werewolves. Clarke’s skin was like iron when she turned. When she was her wolf, typical bullets weren’t enough to break through, making them terrifying things to face up against. However, like any being, it had a weakness.

And that was silver.

Making the silver bullets had been a painstaking process, but Clarke had forced her. Raven swallowed when she remembered Clarke’s words from years ago. That if she ever feared for her life, she was to put hers above Clarke’s own. If she felt in danger then she was to act in whatever way would keep her alive. Raven adjusted the grip of the gun in her hands as she braced herself for what was coming. While she knew, theoretically, that the door was impossible to get through, even for a werewolf, it had never been so explicitly tested.

However, it wasn’t the slams against the door in front of her that attracted her fear, but the ones from behind.

Raven whirled around and felt her eyes bulge when she saw Clarke throwing herself into the metal like she had been the entire time. Except this time Raven saw, with some horror, that the bars were starting to dent with each throw. Clarke must have realised she actually had a chance of genuine freedom now because her throws became more aggressive and frantic, spitting and snarling as the bars dented more and more.

“Stop it!” Raven snapped, but it didn’t do anything. She couldn’t breathe. “Clarke, stop!”

Clarke kept going. Only a few more throws and Raven knew the bars would finally give in.

Raven heard a bang from the outside again and whipped her head to the front. She was closed in. She had a werewolf coming for her outside and from within. Panic was a clawed hand in her chest, squeezing her heart till it bled. Raven trembled, releasing a shaky breath as she slowly turned around, and instead of aiming the gun at the door, she aimed it at Clarke.

“Last chance,” Raven breathed, her hands shaking. “Stop. Right now, or I’ll shoot.”

For a moment Clarke paused, and Raven thought talking had actually worked—but those thoughts quickly died off when Clarke snarled with renewed fire at the sight of the gun and lunged at the bars again. They creaked and curled outwards, and Raven knew she had no choice. Just a few more and Clarke would escape.

“I’m sorry.” Raven muttered. She let out a shaky exhale.

And then she pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know im a right cunt for that cliffhanger, i know! the chapter was getting too long and i had to cut the fucker off before it grew into some 20k shitstorm. i do hope you enjoyed the chapter anyway, and don't worry, lexa will come a running next chapter. i just needed to set everything up and all, but clexa is on the horizon my friends, do not fear.
> 
> really though, thanks for giving the time of day to read. means the world to me. wishing you all a good one, and a happy new year!


	2. Beauty Hides The Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lexa does some top notch Investigating and clarke really fucking hates silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i'm a hypocrite, and yes this is indeed a near 20k shitstorm. this will probably be a common theme. anyway, so id just like to say a really big thank you for the support last chapter. honestly, it made my week and i'm so grateful for all your kind words. really would like to issue a sincere thank you to all of you. i was intending more clexa for this chapter but i kept going off on fucking tangents, so i apologise. still! its a little gayer, so i hope you enjoy.  
> (for that Full Immersion listen to: Mania by Keenan O'Meara)

Lexa ran with a sense of abandon that was rare for her.

She was normally far too busy to ever indulge in such a thing. Too caught up with politics and war, putting out fires that seemed never ending. So when she’d noticed that for once her presence wasn’t actually _explicitly_ needed for a small while she had pounced at the opportunity. Leading to where she was now, feeling the dirt kick up beneath her paws as she ran—simply ran—with no course or goal or destination. The only guide being instinct.

She jumped over a fallen log, dark brown fur fluttering in the breeze that came with these high speeds. The world was nothing but a blur at her sides and she was reveling in it. She could hear a bird’s call off to her light, her ear twitching as she abruptly veered to the side to follow it. The trees were an ever-present mass at her sides, but the longer she went that more they began to thin out until there were none at all. The ground was slowly sloping up beneath her paws.

Lexa slowed as she left the surrounds of the humongous trees, gradually pulling herself to a stop as she trotted up the last of the cliff. She paused at the ledge. Her jaded green eyes surveyed the land before her.

From here she could see the town of Polis. She was up high enough on the incline to look over the town, the human buildings and shops and streets. Unlike some of her pack, Lexa was quite used to human spaces, the tight confines and the metallic, artificial smells. She had been living through her human job for years—the scent of coffee was practically ingrained into her nose. An urge began to build in her bones, and considering this was probably going to be the last time she could shuck off responsibility for a while, Lexa stepped backwards and threw her head back.

She howled up into the wakening skies, loud and deep and _powerful_.

When she brought her head back down, she shook her fur, huffing and dropping so she was lying down. She rested her muzzle on her paws as she continued staring over Polis. Somewhere, hidden within its depth, was the enemy she had been after for years now. If she was lucky, she would find him. Finally she would able to tear out his throat.

But he had a habit of slipping through fingers with the ease of sand. In the rare occasion that he ever left the safety of his territory, he was infuriatingly difficult to track. Always moving, always running, always just that _one_ step ahead that kept him alive and breathing. Which was what made this so strange. Her trackers in this territory had told her how they suspected him to be here, but the strangest part, the _weirdest_ part was that he hadn’t left yet. Normally the second she knows where he was, _he_ knows that she knows, and it’s a teeth-grinding game of cat and mouse.

And yet, he had been here for a while it seemed. She had no doubt he was up to something. The problem was that she had no idea what—all she knew was that it called for him to stay here, to risk himself so utterly. As much as he was definitely insane, he was smart too. He wouldn’t dare stay in one place for so long knowing that she’d come after him for nothing.

So what the hell was he here for?

Lexa’s head popped up when she heard a howl. She was needed back. Huffing through her nose she got to her feet. It would seem her time of recreation was over, not that she was surprised. She briefly stretched, digging her paws into the dirt before she promptly spun around and took off down the incline. She put effort to go as hard as she could, her legs pumping furiously against the hard dirt ground, a blur within the forest as she zipped through. It wasn’t too long until the woods began to thin out again, and Lexa slowed herself to a halt as she approached the familiar tree.

It was massive, its trunk thick and wide enough that you could carve a door into it and make a home. But more importantly was the small pile of clothes that hung on the low hanging branches. Lexa mentally prepared herself for the pain to hit before it did, tensing her muscles as she urged her wolf to retreat, and though there was moment of brief reluctance, her wolf and her were one, and the change began. Despite the agony that was the crunching and snapping of bones as she turned, she only let escape the smallest of grunts.

Lexa stretched her neck as she pulled herself up, glancing at her fingers as she felt the last of change go through. She reached up and grabbed the clothes she had had the foresight of leaving here, quickly pulling them back on before striding off, finally exiting the full cover of trees and instead wandering into the lawn of a large mansion.

There were some luxuries to being Alpha that Lexa quite enjoyed.

As she approached the back she saw Anya, her older sister, standing near the back entrance with her arms crossed, staring out into the woods. Lexa assumed it was because she was looking for her, and her theory was proven right when Anya’s gaze immediately snapped to hers the second she came into view. Anya gave her a smirk that, if she were any other person, Lexa would have knocked right off.

“Enjoy yourself out there?” Anya teased, and Lexa narrowed her eyes as she came to a stop by her side. Still, she couldn’t help one last longing glance to the woods behind her, a small part of her wanting nothing more than to throw every ounce of responsibility to the wind and to just do nothing but run.

But Lexa knew she couldn’t survive like that. She wouldn’t make it one day before turning right back. She had family to protect and care for, her pack that looked to her and sought her guidance, her authority. It didn’t matter how blissful it’d be to step away from what she had become. She could never do it.

“Tondc is better,” Lexa eventually replied, and when she dragged her gaze back to meet Anya’s she saw her eyes soften just the slightest at the mention of their hometown. Which was saying something, because Anya was all sharp angles and even sharper words. Lexa smiled a little. “No lake here.”

“Ah yes, I for one will _not_ be missing the smell of wet dog whenever you’d run through.”

Lexa scowled and Anya laughed. “Is there any reason you called me, or was your sole purpose to insult me?”

Anya’s chuckles died off, her face sobering slightly. “The house is done. Everything and one is just about moved in.” She reported, and though for strangers it would have been odd, Lexa was used to the quick switch between demeanors. To Anya, she was two different people. Her sister—but also her Alpha. “Indra wishes to talk with you. She’s at the front.”

“I’ll meet with her.” Lexa paused just as she was about to step away, bringing herself back and looking to Anya. “We will be visiting the precinct today. Be ready by the time I am done.”

“ _Sha Heda._ ” Anya nodded. Lexa returned the gesture before facing around and walking up the last of the incline to the house. She slipped in through the back door, closing it slow and glancing around at the kitchen it led into. She smiled a little at seeing Gustus, a large bear of a man who looked like he could bend steel with his bare hands, but his eyes were gentle and warm when he glanced up to her. He finished putting a tray of something in the oven—by the smell Lexa knew it was lasagna—and he dusted his hands as he pulled himself up.

“ _Ha yu Gostos_?” she asked, and her father in all but blood gave her a warm smile.

“ _Ai ste os._ ” He said. His massive beard obscured most of his face, but even she could see the crinkle in the corner of his eyes through the thick dark hair. “I see you’ve made use of these woodlands.”

When Lexa frowned a little he simply a raised a large hand, tapping his head.

“You have a twig in your hair, Alpha.”

Lexa scowled him for the amusement that twinkled in his eyes, but still she listened and ran her hand through her loose curls, which would usually be in their braids. Her fingers caught the offending twig and she snatched it out, glaring at it before opening the door and throwing it outside. At least now she knew why Anya had smirked so widely at seeing her.

“Where is Indra?” Lexa asked, turning back to him. He tilted his head.

“Up out front. Overseeing everything. You know how she fears the competency of others.” He shared a look then and Lexa couldn’t help but grin a little, as she knew what he was talking about. Indra was a loyal friend, a trusted advisor, but she was damn terrifying and tended to have the mentality of a drill sergeant. She was notoriously difficult to grow close too. Though when you did, you could trust her with your life.

Lexa nodded. “Thank you Gustus. How long until the food is ready?”

“Little less than an hour. Don’t worry,” he gave her a wink. “You will not be dealing with a pack of starving ravenous wolves.”

“Unfortunately, I doubt that.” Though she sighed, there was a certain fondness to her voice that she couldn’t quite hide. Gustus must have noticed because his eyes softened.

He bobbed his head. “Off you go. You have better things to do than to talk with an old man.”

“You know I don’t think of you that way,” Lexa reprimanded gently, but she listened and pushed herself off the counter, making her way through the kitchen and into a hallway. Stairs with cupboards packed underneath lined her left, while there were a few doors on the right until it opened up into the living room. Lexa glanced in, seeing a large fireplace yet to be used—though she suspected it would be wonderful during winter, especially as a wolf to lie on the rug—a long and low coffee table made of fine dark red oak, the legs carved into gorgeous swirling patterns.

She could see Lincoln and Nyko sitting on black leather couches, quietly talking with each other. Ryder was sitting with them too but he appeared content with simply listening and not getting involved. Tristan was leaning near a tall window near the back, eyes closed and seemingly thinking of nothing. Lexa kept walking through the house, and she felt her shoulders ease as her ears pricked at hearing the noise upstairs, accounting for the rest of her pack as they presumably finished up the last of the moving in the manor. Everything was going to order.

Lexa pulled open the front door, immediately spotting the tense form of Indra in the front garden. She stood next to a dark stoned fountain, water spurting out of a howling wolf’s mouth as it stood atop a cliff, a pack of smaller wolves swirling at its feet. Sometimes Lexa wondered how her kind hadn’t been discovered yet. Clearly, subtlety was not a strong suit.

The moment she was stepping out Indra was turning around. “Alpha,” she greeted with a respectful nod, Lexa returning it as she saddled up to her side. Indra turned back around again, and Lexa followed where the stoic woman had been looking, but the sight revealed nothing but the wolf fountain and the full driveway. It was lined with multiple cars, a few vans. But there was still an ever expanse of greenery that surrounded them, and Lexa supposed that was what was really taking her attention.

“You asked for my presence, Indra.” Lexa said after a while, letting the silence hang between them. It was not uncomfortable, as Lexa had known Indra since she was child, fought and bled with her side by side. There was only ease between them now, as there needed to be. Indra was her beta, her second in command. She needed complete and utter trust with her.

Indra’s face was an impassive mask as always. “You know I still think it dangerous to come here.” She muttered, and her hard gaze didn’t shift from in front of her.

Lexa glanced to her briefly. She didn’t particularly feel like reopening this can of worms, but it would be better to deal with it now than later. Her day was not looking out to be an enjoyable one. Her run this morning aside of course. “Your worries are noted Indra. But that will not change anything.”

Indra’s lips almost twitched, but Lexa wasn’t sure whether she was imagining it. “I know. But you should be reminded, we must be cautious here. I still believe it would have been better to come here without moving in.” Tightness snuck into her shoulders like a snake. “He will run the moment he knows you are here.”

“But he hasn’t,” Lexa retorted, and even if it gave her argument a better standing on the decision to temporarily move here—it still left her immensely uneasy. It must have shown in her voice, because when Lexa spoke next, Indra finally tore her gaze away and looked to her. “He has remained even though he knows I am here. That I am searching for him. He has never been this foolish before, which means that there is something here that is making him stay and risk himself.”

Lexa let out a shaky breath. Her eyes grew hard in their resolve.

“And I am determined to find the reason why.”

Indra thinned her lips. They held iron stares, but Indra was the one to look away. “Just remain careful Alpha. I agree that we should find why he is here. But you should remember, Cage is not stable. He is not predictable. Arrogant, yes, possibly the slightest bit insane—but incredibly dangerous all the same.” Her eyes narrowed. “There is a reason he has survived so long.”

The unspoken words hung in the air like ash.

_Survived from you._

Lexa sighed. Though when she looked to her, she bowed her head. “I understand that Indra. Though while you warn me not to underestimate him, I shall remind you not to underestimate me.”

At that Indra’s lips _did_ twitch this time. There was genuine that pride shined in her eyes. “ _Sha Heda_.” She conceded, and Lexa felt a small half-curve to her lips as they resumed to gazing out onto the lawn of their new land.

It wasn’t technically new. They still treaded Trikru territory, and as Alpha, and Heda, she had multiple estates across the region that she could reside in at any time, for any reason. Though it soothed out politics far more if there was a legitimate reason behind it. There was for this one, and Lexa was both relieved and uneased by it. It was alleviating to not have the other pack Alpha’s breathing down her neck at every decision, but at the same time, Lexa wished she hadn’t of had to move at all. Wherever Cage went death tended to follow.

“You didn’t run with the pack last night.” Indra noted quietly from beside her. Lexa stiffened.

At Lexa’s responding silence, Indra continued, slight hesitance in her voice.

“You did not run with us the night before either.”

Lexa still remained silent. She heard Indra’s sigh, though she couldn’t tell whether it was more sad or frustrated.

“Lexa—“

“Was there any trouble on the runs?” Lexa cut off, turning to face Indra with a glare.

Indra for her credit didn’t cower under her stare like many others. “No.” She answered, voice clipped, and the reluctance was clear in her tone because they both knew where this was going.

Lexa didn’t shift her hard gaze off her. “Then I wasn’t needed.”

“You know that is not the point, Alpha.” Indra reminded, but now her voice was gentle, and it was the softness that broke through Lexa rather than the hardness. She felt it in the way her jaw clenched tight enough she could hear the creak in her teeth. Lexa couldn’t take the stare anymore and looked away. She focused her gaze on the fountain, the howling wolf and the loyal pack at its feet, looking ready to follow their leader to hell if need be.

“Indra…” Lexa warned, her voice low, and though she felt Indra’s last pleading glance to continue this talk, to bring up what she _always_ avoided like the plague—Indra conceded, her teeth grinding as swallowed so heavily Lexa could hear it.

“You cannot run forever _strikon_.” She whispered, and before Lexa could react to such a statement Indra was bowing her head and walking back into the house. Lexa stood, her jaw dropped slightly, her heart pounding her ribcage into splinters within her chest and her eyes burning as she blinked back the emotions threatening to avalanche. She didn’t have time for this. To be weak with all this chaos in her heart.

So Lexa did what she always did.

She clenched her jaw, and she walked away.

-

“Humans.” Anya muttered, her lip pulling in disgust. “They smell like cattle.”

“There is no need to be dramatic, Anya.”

Anya shot her a smirk at that, her head twisting within the confines of the car. “There is always need to be dramatic. Something you would know.”

Lexa rolled her eyes and didn’t take the bait. “Get out the car. We have things to be doing.” She threw Anya a pointed glare, to which her smirk widened and Lexa just barely reigned in the urge to throw her out a window. It would solve a lot of her problems. But, unfortunately it would probably raise more than fix. So. She simply sighed and got out the car.

Lexa was displeased to learn of the attack on a girl two nights ago. They had arrived the same day, and it made her wary that already the second she was here someone was getting killed. She couldn’t help but feel like it was an omen of sort. A message, a sign—that from here on, there will be nothing but death.

She could only hope that it would not come to that. There was no doubt that she would take every effort to ensure the safety for as many as possible, whether werewolf or human, but in cases like this the future was far too tangible and fluid to predict. Whatever the cause of Cage being here, Lexa doubted it was good. If it even drew _him_ out of hiding, the most paranoid and sick man on the planet, then she honestly feared what had caught his attention. He had wanted to kill her for years. Vice versa for her. If it’s a weapon of some sort that had him lingering here, what does she do then?

How many innocents will he drag into the crossfire just to slow her down?

“Hey,” Lexa’s head snapped to the side from where Anya’s hand had grazed her shoulder. Her eyes were full of rare concern. “You okay? You seem even broodier than usual.”

“I am fine,” Lexa answered, but there was a grit to her voice that sounded more like she was convincing herself. Anya’s lips pursed as if she was going to say more, yet at seeing Lexa’s glare she simply shook her head and stepped away.

“Come on, we’ve wasted enough time. You ready?”

Lexa let out a slow breath. It made her feel old and like there were bricks on her chest. “It doesn’t matter whether I am ready.” She muttered, looking out to the police precinct in front of them. It was empty out near the entrance. The day had only just started; there wasn’t much happening, certainly not enough to call for a busy street. She ignored Anya’s worried glance and stepped forward.

She heard Anya’s sigh, but she didn’t push the conversation further.

Lexa went in first. It was mildly comforting, the familiar wave of smells. Precincts tended to have the same scents apparently, and she felt her shoulders relax—If only fractionally, but relax nonetheless—as her and Anya strode in. Her head was high and by the way the desk sergeant immediately straightened up at the sight of them she knew even the humans could sense her power. Lexa’s face was an unnerving blank mask as she approached the desk, Anya loyally trailing at her side.

The desk sergeant, a young man with dark hair and wide eyes swallowed nervously as Lexa stopped just in front of the counter. He seemed to pale the longer she held his stare.

“I’m here for a meeting with Sheriff Pike. I am detective Lexa Woods, this is my partner, Anya.” She stated coolly. The desk sergeant’s eyes blew even wider, somehow, and Lexa for his sake ignored the nervous bead of sweat trialing down his temple as he nodded hastily.

“Yes, of course, you called ahead. He’s expecting you. I-I can guide you—“

“Point the way and we shall be fine.”

The man blinked, jaw hanging open. “Detective, I don’t really think—“

Lexa’s eyes narrowed and he instantly shut up.

He raised a shaking hand and pointed to a door to his right side. “Through that door. His office is at the back.”

Lexa nodded and followed his directions. She could feel Anya shadowing behind her, but more she could sense the definite amusement that radiated off her sister. Anya came up to her shoulder.

“You scared him shitless,” she muttered quietly, and when Lexa glanced to her she saw Anya’s smirk.

“I made no threats.”

“Didn’t have too.” Anya said cheerily. Lexa shot her a glare, to which Anya easily ignored. “Have you ever realised how unnerving your stare is?”

Now it was Lexa’s turn to smirk. “Are you saying you are intimidated by me?”

Anya barked a laugh. “Lexa, I have known you since you were a pup. You have missed that opportunity.”

Lexa huffed. The lightness of the conversation was drained in a heartbeat though as they opened the door and entered the heart of the police station. The room was large, bigger than the one at Tondc Lexa noted, mainly comprised of paired desks lodged together, moderate looking computers sitting on top of them. To the far right there was a staircase that led both down and up. All the officers within the room, whether at their desk or wandering around, glanced up the second Lexa and Anya ambled in.

Her hackles seemed to rise at the sudden attention, and Lexa forcefully reminded herself that snarling was not something that humans did. Instead, she raised her chin, her expression hardening even more and her eyes steady and cold as they swept over the room. She knew Anya was doing the same.

The silence remained in the station as Lexa started forward. Heads followed her but Lexa didn’t pay them mind, though she did throw a withering glare at one of the officers who had the audacity to flick their eyes over her and in an obvious rake of her form. The second he saw the look he was getting from her at being caught he visibly paled and stumbled back as if she’d hit him. She might as well have. With werewolves, it was the stare that both issued fights and subdued them.

So, she had had a long time to perfect her glares.

Eventually the noise started back up again. The attention slowly peeled off them as Lexa approached the sheriff’s office. She paused momentarily, glancing to Anya, and her pack mate gave her a subtle nod. It was a promise. She would stand by her side no matter what. Even if Lexa already knew that, it was comforting to be reminded.

She knocked on the door, eyes briefly flicking over the small painted black letters stuck on to the glass. _Sheriff Charles Pike._ There was no doubt this was where she was meant to be.

A moment later the door opened. The man who’d opened it, presumably Sheriff Pike, offered her a smile as he opened the door wider and stepped back. “Ah detectives, please, come in.” He gestured for them to go past him and Lexa nodded stiffly as she strode forward. She looked around his office.

It was smaller than she’d expected. A large desk took up most of the space, and unlike the grey ones outside, this was a beautiful wood. The air smelled of cologne and was stale from the confined space. His desktop screen was still on, and when Lexa peaked a subtle glance she saw he’d been in the middle of writing something. There were two chairs that Pike gestured for them to sit in as he closed the door and moved back around his desk, but Lexa politely declined and remained standing.

“As you wish,” he shrugged, sitting down into his leather chair. He was bald, dark skinned face relaxed and perhaps the slightest bit smug. His smile was probably meant to be kind and charming, but Lexa didn’t trust it one bit, and did not return the gesture. She kept her mask stoic yet Pike’s smile never wavered.

“I believe you know why we are here.” Lexa started, and Pike nodded his confirmation.

“Of course, the homicide detectives from Tondc, correct?” Lexa dipped her head. Pike leant back in his seat, the chair wheezing slightly as he did so. Though she suspected it was only her and Anya that had heard it. “You’re chasing that killer who did that massacre three years ago in Tondc. Cage Wallace.”

“Yes. He is suspected to be hiding here.” Lexa squinted her eyes just slightly. “I was told you would lend your cooperation in my search.”

“And my cooperation you have.” Pike smiled. Lexa still didn’t trust it. It made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

She kept her gaze steady on him. Despite Pike’s nonchalance, it was clear it was fake, as though his smile was easy his dark eyes were sharp as they tracked every twitch of movement from her. He knew she was someone that wasn’t to be messed with, and especially to be watched. “Good.” Lexa said after a long silence, tension seeping into the air. It reminded Lexa of the stare shared just after the first fist is thrown, and the world stops as you wait to see whether they’ll fight back or stand down. “I hear there was death a couple days ago.”

Pike’s brow creased just slightly, though he smothered the expression quick. “There was.” He answered. He couldn’t seem to completely rid the confusion and surprise in his voice. “It was a wild dog attack. Poor girl got lost in the woods we suspect, was torn apart.”

“Do you still have the body?” Lexa asked and Pike’s expression darkened.

He straightened in his seat, no longer slouching. “And why would you care for that?”

Lexa took a step forward. It amused her how Pike tensed. “I don’t doubt that you’ve done your own research into Cage after finding I was coming here for him. It is known that he uses trained dogs sometimes for his killings. People, bodies torn apart. As this girl was.”

“You suspect he has something to do with her death?” Pike questioned, suddenly looking far more serious than before. Lexa shrugged.

“It is a theory. I would like to see the body, to determine whether there is a connection.”

Pike clenched his jaw. His stare drilled into her, but Lexa stared right back, and there was a heavy silence that burdened the air between them. When Lexa was sure she couldn’t even breathe with the build of pressure, Pike raised his chin, leaning back. His sharp eyes flicked between her and Anya. A sigh broke out of his lips, his shoulders deflating.

“She is downstairs, within the morgue. I will lead you.”

Lexa hid her breath of relief as Pike stood up, his expression far graver than when they’d come in, giving her one last suspicious glance before he opened the door and went through. She and Anya followed on after him. It gave her peace to know that Pike was willingly cooperative with her. She needed to see the body, whether his permission or not, but the effort and time it would have taken if Pike had refused would have been irritating. Not impossible, but irritating nonetheless.

He led them to the staircase they’d seen before, the air cooling as they trailed down, pale grey walls seeming more menacing the deeper they went. When they reached the bottom they entered what seemed to be the laboratory. They passed the machines and a few sleepy technicians, Lexa feeling the corner of her lips twitch at the sight of one of them clutching a cup of coffee like it was their only salvation. The smells were even staler here, more metallic, with a subtle buzz in the air from the electricity.

Pike kept moving until he entered another room, and this was one required a code that he punched in. The second they stepped in the temperature dipped instantly and a shiver passed through her at the unexpected drop. She was wearing a fine shirt and sleek pants, but even her werewolf blood could only heat her so much. Lexa looked around the room, noting Anya doing the same.

It was the morgue. The walls were so pale they were nearly white, a wall of metal on the side, rows of square steel hatches lining across it and above. There were small notes with scribbled writings adjacent to each hatch, and Pike moved through them until he found the one he wanted. His head popped up briefly, locking stares with Lexa, and at her nod he pressed his lips together grimly, but complied. He put in a key, unlocked the hatch then jerked it open. She approached slowly as he carefully reached in and pulled out a trolley with a sheet-covered body on top.

“If you’re easily squeamish I suggest you look away now. It’s… it’s gruesome.” He warned, but Lexa and Anya’s stare remained steady. He sighed as he pulled the last of it out, hesitating one last second before he pulled back the sheet. Lexa sucked in a sharp breath.

He wasn’t lying. It was gruesome and then some. The girl, who when Lexa glanced at the tag around a mauled foot, was only eighteen—and her body was barely a body at all. Her skin was so pale it was blue, but still Lexa was hit with a wave of the scent of death and blood, and she had to fight not to recoil. She was nothing but a carcass.

“We would like to be alone, if that is acceptable.” Lexa spoke into the weighty quiet. She glanced up at Pike, and she could see the anger that flashed across his face as he glanced to the body. She didn’t think it was directed at her though. It was for the body, for the death of a child. Despite Lexa’s reservations about the man, she silently agreed. When she found the wolf behind this they were going to pay.

Pike looked slightly hesitant, but at Lexa’s intense stare, he seemed to give in. He cast a single parting glance to the body as he pulled himself away. “You have ten minutes. Do not touch or containment any bit of evidence.”

“I am not a fool, Pike.” Lexa muttered, a definite threat to her voice, no matter how calm she seemed to sound. Her eyes followed him as he swallowed thickly at the abrupt change in tone.

He nodded once before he left the room, the door closing with a soft click.

Lexa turned back around to the girl. Now that they were alone, Anya finally let loose the snarl that Lexa could sense she had been holding in the entire time they’d been here.

“This is disgusting,” Anya growled, low and harsh enough that out of instinct Lexa had to fight to keep her hackles lowered. Anya’s eyes were burning and full of unmistakable sadness as she stared down at the body. “She’s just a kid. And… and look at her. She’s been torn to shreds. This wasn’t a dog. This was a _wolf_. And a fucking sick one.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Lexa said quietly, carefully walking around so she was on the opposite side. Her eyes scanned the body, the stringy red hair, the pale, glazed over eyes and worse, the absolute mess of a ripped in ribcage. She was missing a hand. “But the brutality of this… Anya, there are strict laws for the killing of humans. This is careless. The body was left in the open; there was no care for any subtlety. She was murdered in cold blood and left to be discovered.”

Anya’s face drew in its anger and fear as she followed Lexa’s understandings. “You don’t believe this is Cage’s doing?”

“He is insane. But not this insane. Even he wouldn’t risk exposure to this degree.” Lexa sighed as she glanced up to Anya. “No, this wasn’t him. Not directly. Only the truly crazed would do something like this.”

Anya blinked. “ _Ripa_ ,” she whispered quietly, and Lexa nodded grimly.

“ _Ripa._ ” She confirmed softly. Anya frowned.

“Are we sure it was not a wolf that has entered _Jusgafen_?” Anya questioned, and Lexa paused, seriously considering it.

Eventually, she shook her head. “No. The body wouldn’t be here at all if that were the case. It would have been eaten, there’d be nothing but bones.” She curled her fists. “No, this was a _ripa_. It must have escaped Mountain territory. It could be why Cage is here, perhaps he is chasing the mutt?”

“Maybe, but the chances are low. Why would Cage come himself? He has others for that.”

Lexa pressed her lips into a thin line. She knew Anya was right, had known before she’d said it. It would have been nice though to have such a clear-cut reason for his movements. But it wasted time on hopeful notions. She glanced around to make sure they were truly alone and no one was watching before she quickly leaned down and sniffed the air around the body.

The stench was thick and heavy. The smell of death made her want to lurch back, but she persevered, hoping to pick out the scent of the wolf that had mauled her. It took a few moments, but Lexa stilled when she found it. She slowly raised her head, meeting Anya’s expectant gaze.

“There’s a scent. Very faint.” Lexa said. _Exceedingly_ faint. But there, no matter how small. “It is a wolf’s definitely, but it’s not enough to know if I recognise it.” She sighed as she stepped back. “We must gather the pack. Search the town. There are only meant to be humans here. We will search for the _ripa_ , find the mutt’s scent. Likely it will linger in the woods, but it may have passed through the city.”

Anya was already pulling out her phone. “ _Sha Heda_. I will call Indra ahead.”

Lexa focused her attention off Anya as she heard Indra pick up, Anya almost instantly barking out her orders. Lexa felt her throat become blocked the longer she stared at the girl. She got that feeling again, like this was the beginning of something, not the end, and she hated the coldness that coiled in her gut.

She doubted this would be the last death on her hands.

-

The moment that Clarke opened her eyes they instantly snapped shut.

The first thing she felt was the _searing_ pain in her shoulder, and it felt like someone had carved a hole into her and had poured lava into it. She groaned loud, her lips pulling into a grimace. Every ounce of her hurt. She was sure that someone had set fire to her blood itself.

“Motherfucker,” Clarke muttered under her breath, giving herself a few moments to adjust to the throbbing agony in her shoulder before—if very slowly and carefully—she forced open her eyes and attempted to pull herself up. She had been lying on the cold floor on her side, but with a moan of pain she brought herself up so she could sit and lean against the wall behind her.

She was breathing hard from the just the small movement alone, gritting her teeth at throb pulsing through her as her adjusting had pulled at the wound. She raised a hand and pressed it against her shoulder, and when her eyes flickered open and she glanced down, she removed her hand and saw it was covered in red.

“What the fuck?” she whispered. Why was she in so much pain? What the hell had happened to her?

“You’re awake,” she heard Raven breathe, and Clarke’s head snapped up only to make her groan again at the sharp movement. Too fast. Way too fast. The wound in her shoulder throbbed again and she just barely bit back her grunts at the pain.

Clarke couldn’t move as she watched Raven practically stumble forward in her haste to get to the cell door and shove it open. She dropped to her knees by Clarke’s side, the familiar pile of clothes in her hand, though Clarke saw with some confusion the blinding relief that brightened every inch of Raven’s skin. Which was strange, because Raven was giving her possibly the widest of smiles Clarke had ever seen. And that was excluding the time Raven beat her at beer pong.

Which, on a totally unrelated note, was completely a fluke. It was the day after her turning days; to say that she was exhausted right down to the bone would be an understatement. The match wasn’t fair.

“Raven what,” Clarke hissed at the wave of pain that hit again when she tried to adjust herself against the wall. “What happened?” she finally managed to push out.

That wide smile dropped from Raven’s face. She swallowed. “Put on your clothes, I’ll explain after.”

Clarke frowned as Raven pulled out the hoodie. “Why?”

“Because I need to get you home. You still have your medkit there right?” Raven asked, and though Clarke was still majorly confused she nodded. “Good, we’ll go there then. And I need to get clothes on you because if anyone saw you it would be incredibly difficult to explain your situation.”

“But what _is_ my situation? Why is my shoulder hurt, why—“ Clarke felt her eyes blow wide as she managed to tilt her head to the side so that she could see the wound at her shoulder. “Did I get _shot_?”

Raven winced. “Uh, well, yes, you kinda did—“

“Who shot me?” Clarke growled, and at the way that Raven seemed to shrink into herself Clarke pulled her lip back. “Raven, I swear to god I’ll—“

Clarke tried to move forward to get to her but instantly she was reeling back with a sharp curse, groaning at the way the movement pulled at her gunshot wound. She inwardly scoffed. Gunshot wound. Fucking great. Because she totally didn’t have enough problems already.

“Clarke please, just let me help you and I’ll explain okay? Just trust me,” Raven pleaded, and while normally Clarke would have conceded she instead found herself bristling. She was exhausted and she was in pain and she was _angry_. No way was she going to just let this go.

“You _shot_ me,” Clarke snarled, feeling her throat vibrate with the sound. “You’re damn lucky that I can’t move right now, because if I could you’d be dead.”

Raven gulped, shuffling back from where she’d been crouched by Clarke’s side. She seemed to understand that Clarke’s words weren’t empty threats, but a legitimate warning, Clarke being able to hear her heart pick up and her breathing quicken.

Clarke’s burning stare didn’t stray off of Raven. “Okay, Clarke listen, before you attempt to kill me let me just say that _you_ told me that if I ever felt in danger of my life, I was to put myself first. You said that.”

At Raven’s words Clarke felt her anger falter. She blinked. Instead, an entirely different emotion rose up, and her gut dropped through the floor. “You stayed the night in here,” Clarke breathed, seeming to just remember. Those last traces of fury left, and in its place it came nothing but a cold and painfully familiar fear. “I tried to kill you didn’t I?”

Raven sighed. “Please let me dress you and then we’ll talk. We need to get you home. The longer the silver stays in your system the worse it’ll be.”

Clarke had to swallow the sudden rock in her throat, but after a shaky breath she nodded weakly. She knew it had been a risk to get Raven to stay the night with her. There was reason that Clarke kept herself in such a highly fortified cell. That craving to kill, to bring death and blood was always so much worse when she turned. Briefly Clarke let her eyes scan Raven’s form, and she felt the smallest tendrils of relief at seeing no injuries, no scratches and, most importantly, no bites.

It was a painful process getting the clothes on. By the end she was breathing hard through the pain, grunting at the way it pulled at her gunshot wound to raise her hands and slip the hoodie over her head. She muttered out a truly impressive string of curse words that would have even made the devil cringe. But, though it was exhausting and agonising, it was done, and Clarke let out a breath of relief as she finished pulling her trackies on.

Raven offered a hand, and while Clarke hesitated in the end she took it and let her help her up. She groaned loud and let her side gratefully slump into the wall the second she was standing. Momentarily she had to screw her eyes shut at the pain, the way it burned like a hot poker embedded into her skin, but when they opened and she forced herself to grit her teeth, her eyes flicked to the front and she froze.

Clarke sucked in a sharp breath.

The bars were dented.

Pressing her hand against the hole in her shoulder she slowly made her way forward, clenching her jaw at the painful twinge. She could hear Raven’s hesitant steps as they trailed after her. Clarke paused when she was right up against bars, and with a slightly shaky hand she reached out and let it graze across the cold metal, ran her fingertips down the length of the bar as it curled outwards. That was her. She had tried to escape.

And by the looks of it she’d nearly succeeded.

“I shouldn’t have made you stay.” Clarke muttered, keeping her eyes on the bars. Her fingers stopped trailing, and instead she gripped them, hands curling into fists around the metal. She released a shuddered breath. “I was stupid.”

“Actually…” Raven’s hand suddenly came out, her hands lying over her own, gently prying her fingers off the metal. Clarke forced herself to meet her gaze. “You were… surprisingly good.”

Clarke frowned. “Raven, you shot me. I nearly escaped.”

Raven winced at the reminder. “Well, yes, but not for the reasons you think.” At that Clarke felt herself stiffen. She pulled her free hand back to her side, stepping back.

“What do you mean?” she said slowly, though Raven just sighed.

“Clarke we need to get you home. The silver will poison you—“

“No.” Clarke cut off, her voice hard enough that she saw Raven swallow nervously. “What do you mean?”

For a moment it looked like Raven was still going to ignore her, but maybe it was the way that Clarke drew herself up—despite the hand still pressed to her bleeding wound—in the hardening of her gaze and tension of her shoulders. There were some things that you simply didn’t go against if you valued your life, and an angry Clarke was one of them.

“Okay, look, you were fine during the most of night alright?” Raven ran a hand through her hair as she caved. She shook her head, but Clarke didn’t know if it was directed at her or herself. Raven offered her a timid smile. “Turns out you can be quite chummy if bribed with food.”

Clarke’s brow creased a little as she took in Raven’s words. She did notice that she wasn’t as starving as she normally was on the mornings after. Although in saying that, she could probably still eat an entire horse and be up for seconds.

Raven’s face grew serious. “You were right Clarke.”

“About what?” Clarke asked, though she thought she already knew; she just didn’t want to believe it.

But with the way that Raven’s face drew more, Clarke already knew what was she was going to say. “That other werewolf, it came here during the night. It was trying to get in. That’s why you went crazy, trying to break out. You could probably smell it.” She shrugged. “I woke up to you snarling. The werewolf, it was trying to get in, kept throwing itself against the door. _You_ kept throwing yourself the bars. I… I had no choice. I got the gun but, when I saw the bars dent, I knew it would only take a bit more until you would break free…”

Clarke sighed. “You made the right call.” She said quietly. Raven’s entire body seemed to tremble with the breath she took. She waited until Raven was looking her in the eye again. “You had no choice. It’s alright. I forgive you.”

“I didn’t want to.” Raven murmured, and her voice was so quiet Clarke suspected the only reason she heard her was because of her supernatural hearing. “I know we talked about it but…”

Clarke used her free hand to gently clasp Raven’s shoulder. She gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m alive. You’re alive. Considering the situation, that is the better outcome out of all of them.” She released Raven, the lines in her face hardening. “But trust me. This is not over. I will find the wolf behind this.”

Raven gave her a look that she couldn’t read, her lips pursing before she seemed to shake her head at herself and let whatever go. “Come on. We need to get you home.”

Clarke followed without question this time as Raven pushed open the cell gate and let her through. She couldn’t help but glance back once she was out, her eyes tracing the deformed metal. She had gotten so close. If she had broken free, Clarke knew she would have woken up covered in blood.

She forced herself to look to the front.

It did her no favours to bring up those memories.

She winced as she waited for the massive steel door to open, holding tighter to the wound in her shoulder. When she glanced to the side she saw blood had started to leak through the fabric, a patch of red blossoming from under where her palm pressed. Raven was right. She needed to get home and get the bullet out of her as soon as possible. She could feel the silver infecting her system, the burning of her blood making her sweat. She probably only had a few hours left until the full effects of the poisoning would set in.

The moment the door was sliding open she stepped through, although almost as instantly was she hissing. She hadn’t expected the sun to already be up, blinding light hitting her eyes and making her grimace. There were holes in the roof of the warehouse coupled with large horizontal windows near the ceiling that let in the beams of the harsh light

“You took longer to wake up.” Raven explained as she walked past her, and unlike her she seemed to be expecting the hard light and didn’t react. Raven hesitated. “I was worried but…”

“I’m awake now.” Clarke muttered. She blinked a couple times to fully adjust to the morning light before slowly making her way forward. She kept her hand pressed tight to her wound, feeling the wetness underneath and trying not to cringe at the pain of it, when all of a sudden she paused, turning around as the door to the cell slowly closed shut. With a frown she approached it. Nearing close enough she crouched down, using her free hand to let her fingers trace the claw marks in the metal.

It had definitely been a werewolf. The claw marks were thick, though packed tighter together than she would have thought, scratching most of the length of the door. There were small dents in it too, as if, like her, it had been attempting to throw itself against it. No doubt in an attempt to get in. Clarke found herself feeling grateful more than once for Raven’s genius. If the door had been any weaker, Clarke knew the werewolf would have gotten in.

But while the scratch marks and dents were worrying, what caught her attention most was the streak of red she could see painted on. Blood. Clarke leaned forward, sniffing the stain. Her nostrils flared.

“You’re right. It was a werewolf.” Clarke murmured, not looking behind to Raven. She knew the girl was listening anyway. Though Clarke had never met another werewolf before, there was some instinct in her gut that told her of what the scent was. There were parts of it that were slightly similar to her own—the werewolf part, she assumed—but Clarke found herself frowning the longer she examined the scent. There was something off about it. Something not right.

It was probably a terrible idea on more levels than one, but Clarke didn’t really care as she licked her finger and swiped it against the dried blood. She brought it to her lips.

Almost instantly was she spurting it out and lurching back, trying to spit the putrid taste out. “Fuck,” Clarke breathed, her face pulled into a scowl as she attempted to rid the last traces of the blood from her mouth. It didn’t seem to work though, not even when she tried to wipe her tongue against her hoodie to scrape it off. She could still pick up hints of it.

“Clarke what the hell?” Raven snapped from her side, and Clarke would have glared at her but she was still reeling from the unexpected taste of the blood.

“The blood,” Clarke started, spitting a mouthful of saliva to the ground. “It’s wrong.”

“Wrong?” Raven questioned, seeming to not understand. Clarke glanced to her. “What are you talking about?”

Clarke opened her jaw, but no words came out. She didn’t really know how to explain it. It was something that couldn’t quite be put into words; all she knew was that it was _wrong_. Just so inexplicably wrong. “I don’t know, it’s just… wrong. It’s not right. There’s something off about it.”

Raven frowned. “Well, it’s the wolf’s right? Maybe it’s just weird ‘cause it’s werewolf blood?”

But Clarke shook her head. “That’s not it. It… it does taste, like a wolf’s blood, but there’s something… something just _off_ about it. Wrong.”

They shared uneasy stares before Raven’s shoulders fell.

“Come on, let’s get moving. Be better if we got back before the world has woken up.”

Raven started for the door to out the warehouse, and though Clarke stood up she paused, glancing to the blood stain and claw marks in the door. Last night had been close. Way too close. She’d nearly killed Raven, and if the wolf had gotten in, it would have killed her too. The werewolf had already killed one girl and last night was evidence that that wasn’t a fluke, a one off that could be ignored. This problem wasn’t going to solve itself.

No, Clarke knew she what she had to do.

She had to hunt.

-

It took what felt like a century to get back.

Logically, Clarke knew it was probably only half an hour, but everything hurt and her sense of time was completely shot. She knew that the only reason she was probably still alive anyway was because of her werewolf biology, and how she healed far faster than a human. But the silver made everything slower, made it ache twice as much, and keeping pressure against the wound and gritting her teeth could only do so little.

She needed to get home and get the bullet out. While she knew in any other circumstance she would keep it in and not take the risk, the silver was interfering with her system, staggering her healing and slowly infecting her. If she could get the bullet out she’d be fine. She should be okay.

She just had the major problem of actually _getting_ it out.

Clarke pressed tighter to her shoulder with the stripped bit of her sleeve she’d used as a makeshift cloth, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart and the way she couldn’t quite stop shaking. The longer they drove the more her breathing was starting to grow a life of its own, irregular and panting, and Clarke noticed how Raven seemed to press on the pedal of the car harder at hearing it. Never mind they were already going well above the speed limit.

“You’ll be alright,” Raven assured, chancing just a single glance to her. She couldn’t afford to look away for long considering the speed they were going at. “Just hold on, we’re nearly there.”

“I’m never going to let you live this down.” Clarke groaned, and despite the heavy tension in the truck that felt like the very air was burdened with weights, she heard Raven’s shaky laugh.

“Fair enough,” she conceded, keeping her eyes on the road. “You’ll gain a good amount of emotional blackmail out of this though. Actually, you should be _grateful_ that I shot you.”

Clarke chuckled, a rough gravelly sound that was far lower than her usual. She was barely keeping her eyes open. “I’ll be sure to send you a thank you card. You think they sell those? ‘Thank you for shooting me?’”

Still, her eyes were open enough that she could just catch Raven’s smile. “Oh, definitely. There’s weirder shit out there.”

She would have laughed, but all of a sudden a sharp lace of pain shot through her and her back arched off the car seat, Clarke failing to bite off her scream. For a moment she couldn’t even think, the pain taking up every ounce of mental space, Raven’s worried shouting’s not making it through the blinding agony. But it disappeared just as suddenly, her body collapsing back into the seat. She was breathing hard and pained tears had escaped without her noticing.

“Clarke! Clarke what’s wrong? What’s happening?” Raven’s voice raised the longer she didn’t get a response.

Clarke sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to even her breathing. It wasn’t working. “The silver,” she panted. A groan escaped her. “It’s starting. I need to get home. Need to take bullet out.”

She could practically hear Raven swallow. “We’re close. We’re nearly there just,” she heard her uneven breath, “just hold on Clarke.”

Clarke nodded. “We don’t have long.” She felt blood slip through her fingers from where she was pressing against the wound. Her sudden laugh was sardonic and probably the slightest bit insane. “If you thought _you’d_ made a scary ghost, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“No one’s dying today Clarke.” Raven muttered, her voice hard enough that Clarke almost believed her. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Raven’s hands clench tighter to the wheel. “Not on my watch.”

Clarke closed her eyes and said nothing.

It wasn’t too long thankfully till they were speeding into the underground parking lot, Raven going off on a cursing spree when the boom gate took too long to slide open. The rubber screeched against the asphalt as the car jerked to a sudden stop, forcing them forward and making Clarke yell when the seatbelt dug into her shoulder. Clarke’s eyes snapped open and she glared at Raven who was staring at her with wide eyes.

“Oh god I’m so sor—“

“Get out the car before I kill you myself Raven.” Clarke growled.

Raven didn’t need to be told twice.

Clarke sighed, using her free hand to take off her seat belt and shove the car door open. She grit her teeth, knowing this was going to hurt, before she simply pulled herself up and stumbled out the truck. Instantly she let her back slump into the truck, pushing tighter to the bullet wound and breathing heavily. Silver bullets. Why the hell did she make Raven make silver bullets?

Of course, she knew the answer to that. But still.

Why the _fuck_ did they have to be silver?

“Come on,” Raven urged, appearing at her side and gently grabbing the arm not stopping the blood flow. “We’re so close now.”

“Quick,” Clarke grunted, letting Raven tug her forward as she faltered for the car park exit.

She had tripped more than once by the time they managed to stumble their way into the elevator—the lift thankfully being empty—and with a grateful sigh she let herself sink into the elevator walls. The blood loss was starting to catch up to her. Her mind felt slow and sluggish, dizziness hitting her whenever she managed even a single step forward. Raven reached out and grabbed her waist, encouraging her to lean her weight into her, and while at first Clarke resisted in fear she was too heavy, she didn’t have much will to refuse and soon she was slumping into Raven.

“Can’t have you blooding up the walls,” she heard her mutter into ear, and Clarke just about managed a weak laugh.

“You’re lucky, I think it missed the blood vessels,” she retorted, though her words were breathless and she was still slumping into Raven. She didn’t get a reply.

The elevator dinged, the heavy metal doors sliding open with a grunt. Apparently karma was on her side for once because the hall was empty, though Clarke did mildly suspect that had something to do with the ungodly hour they were up at, Raven helping her as she staggered her way forward to their apartment. They had just reached the door when the shot of agony hit again and Clarke fell to the floor.

She bit her lip hard enough to bleed to keep the sounds in, but still pained grunts and huffs slipped through. She rolled onto her side, her hand jerking out and pushing herself against the carpeted floor. Her entire body was shaking.

She felt arms hook her armpits and lift. It pulled at the hole in her shoulder in the worst of ways and Clarke cried out. “I’m sorry,” she heard Raven whisper into her ear. Clarke groaned once she was back on her feet, leaning into Raven’s side, Raven’s arm secured back around her waist.

“Door,” Clarke breathed, and though it was clearly a struggle, what with holding Clarke with one arm and attempting to maneuver the key into the lock with the other, finally Raven succeeded and the door clicked unlock. Raven turned the handle and shoved the door open. She basically dragged her in.

Raven kicked the door close with her foot from behind, muttering reassurances in her ear as she helped guide her upstairs. Clarke had only just grabbed the handrail when a wave of dizziness hit and she fell backwards. Raven caught her before she could touch the ground though, and Clarke heard her grunt as she helped her back to her feet.

“Bottom bathroom, come on, you can’t take the stairs.”

Clarke was too weak to do anything but nod.

The silver felt like it was burning through every vessel of her blood. It was a sharp, lacing pain that shot in waves with every beat of her heart, her head spinning and the world blurring at the edges. She didn’t even know what was from blood loss and what was from the silver poisoning.

Raven half-dragged half-carried through the open living room and kitchen, shouldering open the door near the end on the right. Despite there being no light in the room, Clarke could see fine, and she winced when Raven slapped the light switch blindly and harsh artificial light suddenly sputtered on. The tiles were cold on her legs as Raven gently eased Clarke down and propped her against the cream wall of the bathroom. Clarke hissed and felt a painful twinge at her shoulder.

“Okay, where’s your medical kit?” Raven asked, crouching in front of her. Clarke nodded as she panted.

“Upstairs, bathroom, left cabinet, top.” Each word was accompanied by a lungful of air. “Get vodka too.” Raven bobbed her head and shot off, and Clarke found herself impressed at how quickly she’d moved. Raven was someone thoroughly _against_ the idea of unnecessary exercise—Clarke had only seen her voluntarily run four times in her life. And three of them involved food. The other was a bet.

She could hear Raven rummaging through the smaller, joined bathroom upstairs, the slam of drawers and rattling of objects as she presumably tore her way through. Clarke screamed when the silver poisoning slammed into her again, but this one felt harder than the previous, and her back arched once more, head tilting back as the agony rippled through every muscle in her body.

“Fucking silver,” Clarke cursed with heavy breaths.

She heard a clatter followed by a victorious ‘gotcha!’ a thunder of steps as feet blurred down the stairs. Not long after Raven was appearing at the archway to the bathroom and was kneeling at her side. In her hands was a thick red bag with a white cross on the side, the other a bottle of vodka that she placed next to the bag. Clarke watched with sweat leaking down the sides of her head as Raven hastily unzipped it and flung it open. She froze, staring down at the contents.

“I don’t…” Raven’s voice was shaking, and when she glanced up Clarke could see the clear fear in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s alright,” Clarke briefly squeezed her eyes as another burst of pain hit. She clenched her jaw to contain her sounds. “Get the tweezers. Dip them in the vodka. Then give me the bottle.” She let out a shuddered breath. “Just need to get the bullet. I will heal fine after.”

Raven’s hands were still trembling but she did as she said. When she was done disinfecting the tweezers she threw away the bottle lid and tried to hand the bottle over but Clarke shook her head.

“Take my shift off.” Clarke panted and, despite the exceedingly grim situation, even Raven’s nature couldn’t shy away from such a comment.

“Griffin, I love you, but not like that,” she smirked and Clarke managed a truly impressive glare considering she was bleeding, in pain and her hair was matted against the sides of her head with her sweat. Raven gulped. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll shut up.”

It hurt just as much, if not more to get the hoodie off. Clarke was sure she was going to pass out at any moment now. It didn’t help that on top of everything, she was exhausted from shifting three nights in a row, the last day was always her worst and just from _turning_ alone she felt like she could sleep till the end of days. Still, she forced herself to stay awake, tried to ignore the throbbing behind her eyes and at her shoulder, sucking a sharp breath before grabbing the vodka and removing her hand from her wound. She lifted the bottle and poured it down.

Clarke cried out at the sudden searing pain, throwing her head back and feeling it thud against the wall behind her. “Fucking hell,” she breathed. Tears slipped out of the corner of her eyes. When she managed to bring her head back down and opened her eyes she saw Raven staring at her helplessly. Clarke forced herself to come back, trying to shove away the blaring sting of agony at her shoulder. “Give me the tweezers.”

“I can do it,” Raven tried, but Clarke shook her head from where it still rested against the walls.

“No, you can’t. Give it.”

“Clarke—“

She cut Raven off. “I can feel where it is. I’ll be fine. Give them.”

She wasn’t lying. She could feel the bullet lodged within her, digging into her flesh with every jostle. Raven looked like she still wanted to disagree with her, but Clarke’s glare must have been more intense than she intended, because soon Raven was caving and handing them over. Clarke grabbed them, taking a moment to try and stop her shaking fingers.

She didn’t waste time before she pushed them in. Her back pushed off the wall and she yelled at the sharp burst of pain, feeling the tweezers probe into her flesh. This was a terrible fucking idea. But it was too late to back out, and Clarke had always been a stubborn thing, so she clenched her jaw and panted sharp breaths through her nose as she carefully pushed in further. It took far too long, too many seconds of nothing but agony—but she found it. Carefully, she eased the tweezers around the bullet, and once it was secure she began to pull it out.

She screamed the entire way. The moment she was free it she threw the bloodied tweezers to the tiled floor, the bullet covered in a sticky red held within them. Clarke was still breathing hard, but with the bullet out she was already starting to feel better, the burning of her blood reducing from a boiling to a simmer. With the silver gone, there was nothing left to hold back her body from finally healing itself.

She let out a loud sigh of relief. She’d done it.

But it seemed she had spoken too soon.

She had a few wonderful seconds of being bullet-free, just doing nothing but breathe, when out of nowhere she suddenly lurched forward and a wave of nausea slammed into her gut. She started coughing violently, hard racking coughs that shredded her throat. Raven jumped back at Clarke’s abrupt movement. Distantly, Clarke heard Raven’s yells of panic, but her attention was far more taken up by the hacking at her throat and the tearing at stomach. She heaved into the floor, blood splattering the white tiles red, and she didn’t stop the aggressive hacks until she felt something sharp slip up her throat and she coughed out tiny flecks and wrappings of silver into the tiles.

Her coughing died off once the silver was out, Clarke blinking as she watched the cause of so much pain looking nothing like the agony it was, but just shiny specks on the floor, surrounded with drops of blood and bile.

“I fucking hate silver.” Clarke muttered, leaning back up and slumping into the wall. She didn’t let herself rest for long though. She nodded at the first-aid bag by Raven’s side. “Raven, get the gauze pads.”

Raven still looked shaken with everything that had happened, but she followed Clarke’s words and pulled out the bandages. Clarke grabbed them with a breathless thanks, her fingers still covered in blood. Before she could bandage the wound though she needed to clean it, and it was just as painful as before when she rinsed it in the vodka, Clarke swearing a multitude of curse words by the time she was able to finally put the gauze over her bullet wound. Raven helped to tape it, and once it was done Clarke let out an audible breath of relief.

“Well,” Clarke heaved, still panting. She offered Raven a wry grin. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Raven gave her a smile in return, but it was weak and small. “I’ll get you a shirt then come back.” She said and Clarke just had enough strength in her left to nod. She let her eyes scan the room when Raven left. She cringed at the mess it was, the blood on the floor, the contents she’d coughed up from before. It was going to be a pain to clean. Clarke would have tried to help tidy up now, but she was barely keeping herself conscious. When Raven was back in the room Clarke was halfway falling asleep.

“You’re not sleeping in here wolfie,” Raven chastised, kneeling by her side and guiding the baggy shirt she’d grabbed over Clarke’s head. Clarke groaned but complied, grunting as they finally succeeded the shirt on. Her eyes were half-lidded with her exhaustion when she saw Raven shuffle closer to her and slip an arm around her waist. “Come on, let’s get you to bed and you can sleep for as long as you want.”

Clarke hissed as Raven heaved her up. Her knees buckled and Raven only just managed to keep her on two feet, helping her through the doorway and into the rest of the apartment. Just the idea alone of the trek upstairs made her cringe, so when Raven dragged her past the couch Clarke pulled back and shook her head.

“Sofa,” she breathed, and Raven didn’t offer disagreement, nodding and pulling her over. Carefully Raven laid her down. Clarke sunk into the couch, and the padding had never felt so soft. She was so exhausted that she was nearly asleep the second she hit them. Yet, she kept herself just out of reach of oblivion, leaning away from sleep’s fingers. “Raven,” she called, though her voice was more a mumble. “The bathroom, it’s a mess—“

“It’s fine, I’ll clean it don’t worry.” Raven interrupted, reassuring her.

Clarke tried to shake her head but it seemed her body wasn’t cooperating. “No, not by yourself—“

“Clarke. You are the one who got shot. Stop, you’re not doing anything.” She heard Raven’s shaky breath. “Just sleep Clarke. I’ll wake you for lunch and dinner.”

“Raven…” she attempted to say more, but her voice became muffled by the pillows as she adjusted her head onto them. It was her last effort. Clarke knew she had no energy left.

So when she heard Raven’s soft whisper of, “sleep Clarke,” she didn’t bother trying, and instead just her eyes slide shut.

She was asleep the second they closed.

-

Raven let her sleep the morning away.

Just after she laid Clarke into the couch she stepped back, watching as Clarke, only after a half-hearted argument, was instantly falling asleep. She was out like a light. Raven lingered a few seconds by her side, watching the rise and fall of her back to assure herself that she was indeed alive, that she was fine. She hadn’t killed her. Hurt her, yes, _immensely_ yes.

But she was alive.

It wasn’t long after till she was standing up again. She glanced at Clarke one last time—trying not to cringe at the red coating her fingers—before she turned around and resigned herself to clean up duty. Normally Raven abhorred the chore and used every trick in the book to get out of it, but there was this sinking guilt in her chest that nagged at her. She was the one who’d shot Clarke. The fact that it wasn’t _technically_ Clarke only gave her the slightest easing of that guilt.

She had watched Clarke turn into that wolf. She had also watched the wolf turn into Clarke. And she understood, she knew they were different. One was an animal with the sole intent kill and one was… a human being, mostly—they weren’t the same, she _knew_ that. But they shared the same physical body. If she shoots the wolf she shoots Clarke. So it didn’t matter, not really. She still felt the guilt at putting a bullet in her best friend because she was afraid of her.

Raven wasn’t one for such heavy thoughts, so quickly she busied herself in putting on some rubber gloves and grabbing a plastic bucket hidden under the kitchen sink. It was probably a little worrying how the notion of cleaning up blood wasn’t foreign to her, and she let herself go through the motions without really thinking, mixing in the bleach and wiping down the area.

There wasn’t much thankfully. She tried to be quiet as possible as she cleaned up the area, mindful of Clarke’s sensitive hearing. She’d nearly finished the floor when she found the tweezers with the bullet. Raven swallowed before she gingerly picked them up, easing open the tweezers and letting the dented bullet fall into her palm. It was still wet with her blood.

“All of this because of you,” she muttered to the bullet. She imagined if the thing would speak it would be glaring at her. The thought made her smile.

She stood up and rinsed the bullet clean in the sink before slipping it into her pocket. The rest of the morning remained uneventful, she checked her truck and attempted to rid the stains in the passenger seat but it only half worked. Briefly she dipped out and scanned the hallway outside their apartment, spotting a few drops in the carpet from where Clarke had fallen from before. They were small, thankfully, subtle enough that they could be passed off. She didn’t risk cleaning it out in the open.

Raven also took effort to pull her phone out and ring Clarke’s boss. She knew Clarke was stubborn, but there was no way she was in any shape to work today. She could barely stand on her own two feet. Wells was a kind man, and when Raven told him of how Clarke’s flu had gotten worse and she wouldn’t be making it to work today either, he had voiced his disappointment but accepted. It was more than she could ask for.

When the apartment was back to its usual self, Raven gave herself a proud nod and grabbed the now ruined hoodie, stuffing it in a garbage bag and strolling down to the rubbish shoot. She glanced down the hall, making sure no one was there just as she pulled open the hatch and crammed in the bag. She watched it disappear into the dark shaft before hearing a satisfying _thud_ , confirming it had hit its mark. Well. That was _one_ problem solved then.

She decided to reward herself with coffee. She took a quick shower first, eager to get rid of the sweat and grime. By the time she was done it was a little past eleven and when she passed by the kitchen and living room where Clarke was still knocked out, she felt herself smirk at little at hearing Clarke’s slight snore. Yeah. She was dead to the world. Clarke had a habit of waking up the second someone else was in the room, probably some deep and buried wolf instinct, and the fact that she hadn’t stirred not once in the entire time of Raven’s up and down presence was telling. She was seriously exhausted.

The late morning air was warm when she stepped out. It felt a little strange, to be walking the streets with everyone else like all was normal, when she had spent the morning doing anything _but_ normal. Shooting a werewolf, driving said werewolf home and then watching them pull their own bullet out was probably not the most common of morning routines, and it made her skin feel uncomfortable the longer she walked. She smiled at the strangers who made accidental eye contact, waved good morning to that old lady a couple blocks away who always gets her name slightly wrong but hasn’t the memory for when Raven corrects her every time. She did everything she normally did.

But she couldn’t help but feel alien throughout the entire experience.

The door dinged when she pushed it open, the dainty bell somehow always surprising her. Raven didn’t really understand how. She’d been living in this town for three years now, getting coffee from the same shop, yet every time she jumped at the ring of the bell when the door opened. She wrote it off to her shaken nerves from this morning.

The cozy coffee shop was oddly busy, though Raven shouldn’t be surprised. She sighed but resigned herself to the queue. She pulled out her phone as she waited, playing around and doing nothing on apps, eventually deciding to check the news to see if any information had popped up on the werewolf attack. Her shoulders deflated in their relief at seeing no news of another death. There was an update on the attack from two days ago though. They had identified the body.

Zoe Monroe. She had only just turned eighteen.

Raven tightened her grip on her phone. She was just a kid. Raven had gotten so used to Clarke’s restrained nature over the years, the way she always held back and took every effort to prevent an escape that somehow she’d forgotten just how heartless wolves were. It brought back memories of the day she found out Clarke was werewolf, when she’d walked into that house, everything and anything covered in blood; the walls, the floor, the very air. She still had nightmares about it.

She had forgotten what wolves could do. But that was a mistake she wasn’t going to repeat. They were going to find the wolf responsible for this, they were. She wasn’t letting this go.

They were going to find the sick bastard and put him down.

Raven jumped when someone tapped her shoulder. She spun around, ready to give a mouthful to the guy behind her, when she froze and realised they weren’t a guy at all. And, actually, was an exceedingly attractive woman that had her briefly forgetting the English language.

The gorgeous blond, her roots dyed black, raised a perfectly sculpted brow. Her jaw was sharp enough to cut stone. Raven couldn’t seem to do anything but stare, and she really regretted it when a slow smirk spread on the woman’s features, something unnervingly predatory in her gaze.

“As much as I’d love to stand here all day, the queue is moving.”

Oh god even her _voice_ was attractive. Still, Raven blinked back to reality, her jaw snapping shut when she realised—with only a small amount of mortification—that it’d dropped.

“Right, yeah.” Raven ignored the heat flaring her cheeks and spun around, indeed seeing how she’d gotten so caught up with the article that the people in front of her had all ordered and gone. She shuffled forward and ignored how she could feel the woman’s presence at her back. Raven cleared her throat. “Hey, Niylah,” she greeted, hating how her voice shook a little.

Niylah raised a brow but seemed to let it go. “Hello to you too. You here alone?”

Now _this_ was a topic where she actually had a grip, and Raven was beyond grateful to have something to anchor herself back on. Stupid attractive women messing with her brain. “Hoping for a certain blonde? Alas, she’s busy and you’re stuck with me.” Raven teased and Niylah blushed.

Niylah coughed awkwardly, Raven’s smirk growing. Clarke might be half wolf, be able to smell blood from miles away like a shark, but the girl was completely oblivious when it came to her love life. It was embarrassing really. Raven had known the instant she’d met Niylah of her intentions with Clarke, but Clarke—being Clarke—had not a single clue. Raven wished Niylah would make a move because Clarke certainly wasn’t going to be the one initiating it.

Raven decided to take pity on the girl. “Anyway, you still got those chicken rolls Clarke loves?” Niylah nodded a little too quickly. Raven fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll have that and a large flat white. Oh, and actually I’ll have two of the rolls.”

Raven offered Niylah a smile before stepping away so the queue could keep moving. She most definitely did not steal a glance at the goddess of a woman that had still lingered behind her, letting her eyes rake over her surprisingly tone form. She was wearing jeans and tank top and really, Raven wouldn’t have minded if she punched her.

But apparently she wasn’t being as subtle as she thought she was, because just as Raven was about to tear away her ‘discreet’ ogling the woman was done taking her order and turned her head, staring her dead in the eye. Raven’s throat went dry. It really didn’t help when the woman smirked again, that _stupidly_ attractive goddamn smirk.

Raven got the sense she was being stared down by a lion again, so when she heard her name being called she hastily grabbed the drink and food and rushed out the shop in the most decent manner she could muster. Still, she was unable to stop herself from casting one last furtive glance as she left, just managing to catch the woman’s eye. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she hurriedly ripped her gaze off.

That feeling of those brown eyes burning into her didn’t leave until she got home.

Raven heaved a breath of relief as she slipped in the key to her apartment. She shucked off her jacket and hung it up, balancing the food and coffee in one hand in a truly impressive display. She wondered into the kitchen, a grin tugging at her lips at seeing Clarke still completely out. She would have to wake her up though. She needed to get food in her, as a hungry Clarke was a scary Clarke, and Raven had had enough scares for one day.

She left her coffee on the kitchen bench as she approached Clarke, kneeling down by the couch. Clarke was lying on her front, her head on her side and face peaceful. Sometimes Raven wondered how such soft innocence could destroy entire lives in a blink.

“Clarke,” Raven called softly, lifting a hand and gently grabbing her uninjured shoulder. “Clarke wake up. You have to eat. Then you can sleep.”

Raven kept shaking her gently until Clarke’s face suddenly scrunched up, breathing in a long sigh. “Go away.” She mumbled into her pillow. Her eyes remained stubbornly shut and Raven glared at her.

“Griffin. Food. You need to eat.”

“Sleep.” Clarke protested in a grumble.

Raven sighed. This wasn’t her first rodeo though, so with a smug grin she leaned to her side and picked up the plastic bag with the two rolls. They were long, more baguettes, and Raven fished one out and brought it close to Clarkes nose, waving it in front of her. She watched as Clarke’s nose twitched and seemingly out of instinct leaned forward.

“Yes, see? Smells good doesn’t it?” Raven tempted, grinning wide when Clarke’s eyes begrudgingly peaked open.

“Fuck you.”

“Really, that’s hurtful Griffin. Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds?’” Raven teased, shuffling back as Clarke sighed and slowly slipped her hands underneath her so she could push herself up. She winced as she did, and Raven’s smile wavered at seeing the obvious pain Clarke was in.

Clarke glared at her once she was semi-sitting. “You ever heard the saying ‘don’t piss off someone who could rip out your throat?’”

“Ah, there she is, my lovely affectionate and murderous best friend.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but when she reached for the sandwich Raven handed it without pause. Normally she’d annoy her friend a little more, but Clarke wasn’t wrong with her words from before. Raven had no intention of pissing off a hungry and wounded werewolf. Despite Clarke’s clear exhaustion, the incentive food was enough to wake her to start scoffing down the rolls without problem. It was these times when Raven felt the rare flare of jealously for Clarke, being able to eat insane amounts and keep a naturally muscled figure.

But then Raven thought of Clarke’s pained screams when she turned, and the feeling passed quick.

Raven stood up and wandered over to the kitchen, opening one of the cabinets and pulling out a glass. “You feeling any better?” she called over her shoulder, moving to the sink and filling it with water. She glanced up in time to see Clarke somehow already finish off the first roll.

“Shoulder hurts,” Clarke said in a nonchalant shrug. It made her wince. “Not like before though. I’ll be fine now the silvers out.” Her face pulled into a scowl as Raven approached her. “I hate silver.”

“Pretty sure silver hates you too. Here,” she handed the glass of water which Clarke accepted with a muttered thanks. Raven let out a long breath. Well. That was her duty as mother for the morning done. “Alright, finish up and then you can go back to sleeping. By the way, I called your boss for the day off. He hopes you get better.”

Clarke downed the water in one go. Apparently she was much thirstier than she seemed. “Wells wasn’t mad?”

“He could never get mad at you,” Raven scoffed. “Honestly, you have the poor guy wrapped around your finger. Seriously Clarke, you’re fine. Let your body rest. You need it.”

Clarke grunted in agreement. Raven left her to her last sandwich and drifted over to the fridge again. She opened the fridge; smiling at seeing they still had some left over pasta, Raven eagerly grabbing the Tupperware and scooping some into a bowl. She delicately placed it in the microwave—food was important, after all—leaning back and watching the pasta rotate within the machine. Raven craned her neck from where she leaned in kitchen.

“Hey Clarke have you—“

Raven stopped when she saw Clarke was already asleep again.

She let her words die off, biting her lip.

She decided she’d bring up the gorgeous stranger at another time.

-

Clarke’s dreams were vivid.

A lot of it was blurry like it always was, the world more in streaks and flashes than clear images. It was certain details that stood out, not the entire picture. The same grey walls. The same metallic tang in the air. The same metal that kept her trapped. But then there was something different, the smell of something far sweeter and more intoxicating than anything she’d come across in years.

Human.

That detail was vivid. Despite the disconnect of the dreams, that scent, that smell, _that_ she couldn’t get out of her head. She could taste it in her mouth. The smell of fear. Of terror. Her own burst of excitement, at feeling the bars bend, at knowing she was _so_ close to—

But then there was the other scent. The one that had made her angry. She had grown used to the human’s, maybe even the slightest bit compliant. But that scent, the bad one, the _wrong_ one, that one of another rival. That was the one she hated. She needed to find it, to kill it for daring to trespass her territory. Its scent, of smoke and rock. That would lead her to it.

She wanted to tear out its throat.

Despite how deep Clarke was into her sleep, it had been many hours now, and she was starting to come back. So when she heard the distant sound of a door slamming and excited holler followed by Raven’s loud shush of ‘shut up, Clarke’s asleep!’ her ears twitched and she pulled in a deep breath. But she kept her eyes shut, even if she was now awake.

“I swear, I’ll beat your ass if you’ve woken Clarke up.” She heard Raven warn with an impressive amount of seriousness, and out of curiosity Clarke took in a subtle sniff of the air. She had to bite back her smile when she smelt her other best friend.

“Is Griffin passed out on the _couch_?” Octavia exclaimed, getting shushed again by Raven for her loud voice. Clarke heard a huff. “Seriously? I’m being quiet Raven, quit being a librarian. You’d look terrible in glasses.”

“Okay, first of all, you are completely wrong on _so_ many levels I would look hot as fuck, and secondly,” Clarke heard the telltale sound of a slap against the back of the head. “This isn’t your home! So be _quiet_.”

“You gave me a key.” Octavia grumbled and Raven sighed.

“And what a terrific decision that was.”

They started trading insults after that, but Clarke noticed that their voices were drifting away and into the kitchen. She decided she’d had enough of pretending and her eyes cautiously slid open, feeling at ease seeing that her two friends were far too caught up in each other’s argument to notice. Clarke carefully slipped to her feet. She snuck off to the bathroom first and quickly cleaned off the blood off her hands before returning, keeping her steps soft as she approached them.

“I swear Octavia, you’ve got the brain of a six year old, how have you not matured one bit since I’ve met you?” Raven scowled, Octavia rolling her eyes.

“You’re calling me immature? _Clarke’s_ the one passed out on the couch at five p.m. You guys have a fun party last night?” Octavia said, and as if to prove her point she gestured behind her to where Clarke had been, but when they looked over they saw she was gone.

Raven blinked. “Where did she—?”

“Boo.”

Raven jumped a good metre in the air, practically crashing into the kitchen counter while Octavia staggered back and just barely kept herself from falling flat on the floor. Clarke smirked from where she’d popped up from behind them.

“Jesus fuck! Are you _trying_ give me a goddamn heart attack?” Raven yelled, and Clarke gave her a grin that was probably a tad too wolfish.

Ignoring Raven’s comment, Clarke turned to Octavia, who was still clutching at her chest. She could hear her rapid heartbeat. “Hey O,” Clarke waved, and Octavia watched her a moment before seeming to just give up entirely and waved back.

“Sup Griffin.” She offered back with an impressive amount of nonchalance.

“Bloody predator,” Raven muttered under her breath, quiet enough that only Clarke could hear. She grinned wider in response and reveled in Raven’s glare. “I’m never looking out for you again. How long were awake for?”

Clarke shrugged. “Heard O come in.”

“I knew you were too loud!”

Octavia threw up her arms. “How was I supposed know!” she threw a look at her. “Excuse me for not being _psychic_ of your drinking habits. Which, by the way, why _were_ you passed out on the couch? Forget you have a bed?”

Octavia was staring at her now, a brow raised pointedly, and Clarke ignored Raven’s quiet mutter of ‘there’s something called a _phone_ O,’ easily chuckling a fake laugh. “Yeah, it was a crazy night last night. Went to this bar and… I don’t really remember much, not anything really.” She wasn’t even lying for that. Clarke shrugged. “You know, party animal Griffin and all that.”

Raven snorted. “Yeah, you were an animal alright.”

Clarke glared at her.

“You doing alright?” Octavia asked, concern tugging at her brows. It was strange, Clarke was so used to Octavia’s constant hyperactive nature. She had been the youngest of their friend group, when they’d all been in high school together. After knowing her for so long Clarke had come to start seeing as a little sister of sorts.

Clarke gave her a genuine smile at the concern. “Yeah, just a rough few days.”

Octavia clicked her tongue. “Oh, come here Griffin. I didn’t come barging into your home for free food without getting hugs.” She stepped forward and threw her arms out, Clarke laughing and shaking her head but complying.

“Seriously O? You only came for the food?” she heard Raven groan with exasperation. They both ignored her and Octavia pulled her in for a hug. Clarke went in to embrace her back with equal tightness, except Octavia’s hold had been harder than expected and had her flinching back with a painful twinge at her shoulder. Octavia instantly released her and stepped away, furrowing her brow at her as Clarke’s hand came up and pressed against where she could feel the bandage was beneath her shirt.

“What was that?” she asked, and Clarke saw Raven’s wide panicked eyes over Octavia’s shoulder.

Clarke opened her mouth, no sound coming out as she awkwardly scratched the back of her neck in a attempt to buy herself some time. “Uh… bar fight. Last night, yeah. I went really crazy and… got in a fight.”

Octavia’s eyes blew wide. “For real?”

“Yeah, hundred percent,” Raven added on from behind, and Clarke shot her a grateful look. “This guy tried to feel her up,” Rave went on. “When she rejected her he tried to… attack her, and it fell into a fight. He uh, stabbed her in the shoulder with glass bottle.”

Octavia’s gazed snapped from Raven’s to Clarke’s. “ _What?_ ”

Clarke took the subtle cue from Raven and pulled down her shirt collar, revealing the peaking edge of the gauze, blossoming red in the centre of the white. “You should see the other guy,” Clarke offered with a wry grin, hoping to hide how hard her heart was pounding against her ribs. She could feel her pulse in her hands.

“Wow.” Octavia laughed and shook her head. “Shit really doesn’t change huh?”

Raven grinned wide at her response, though Clarke thought it was in relief more than anything. They all laughed a little, some more breathless than others. It was Clarke and Raven’s.

“So,” Clarke started, leaning her hip against the counter, trying ignore how while it seemed Octavia had bought the story, there was some cautiousness in her gaze that hadn’t quite left. “How’s adult life with an actual job?”

Octavia paused, and for a second Clarke thought she was going to bring up the conversation back to the bar. But then she smiled and shook her head. “Surprisingly, being a personal trainer is more tiring than it looks.”

“You’ve been teaching some classes at the gym haven’t you?” Raven asked. Clarke felt her lips twitch at the obvious disgust in Raven’s voice.

Octavia glared at her. “At least _one_ of us has to be healthy Rae. Though, you’ve changed a lot Griffin,” she went on, turning her gaze to her. She smirked. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how fit you’ve been getting.”

Clarke shot her grin, but Octavia didn’t seem to see the melancholy behind it. “All good things come at a price.” When Octavia tilted her head at her, Clarke continued, and she ignored how Raven’s gaze had softened as she watched her. “Having to actually _do_ exercise, for one. Little evil for a little good.”

“Fuck oath, running is the work of the devil.” Raven agreed, and just like that Octavia huffed and the conversation kept moving.

Despite Octavia’s unexpected appearance, and on today of all days, Clarke was glad she had come. They spent the next hour just doing nothing but talk and catching up, Raven even at one point drifting over to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of wine. At the raised brows of both Octavia and Clarke, Raven had sighed and muttered, “I can be an adult too, you know,” and they had both laughed as Raven poured a glass.

Alcohol didn’t do anything for Clarke. Well, it did, but she’d need to have a _lot_ to even get buzzed. So while she watched her friends get sloppier and looser tongued as time went on, she watched with a knowing smile, smirking when Octavia at one point complained about Clarke’s ability to ‘handle her drink’. If only she knew.

The visit was therapeutic really. Clarke hadn’t seen Octavia in a while, and Octavia seemed genuinely sad over that fact as well, playfully slugging her in the arm and then frowning slightly at hitting what felt like complete muscle. Raven must have noticed because she was quick to divert Octavia’s attention with an embarrassing story about Clarke, something that was guaranteed to capture Octavia’s mind. Sure, it made Clarke hiss Raven’s name more than one and blush harder, but she was grateful, and when Octavia kept the conversation flowing it proved the distraction had worked.

Clarke watched Raven for a little longer. While she knew these days had been hard on her, they had been hard on Raven too, and she decided that she was going to have to make it up to Raven somehow. Homemade pasta could only do so much. Clarke promised herself though; she’d find something that would help to ease out the tension that, to the untrained eye, was near invisible as it curled in Raven’s shoulders.

But Clarke could see it.

It was nearing six thirty when Octavia exclaimed she was starving and stumbled into the kitchen, presumably to raid what little contents they had left. They had yet to go grocery shopping, a fact that was reminded at Raven’s sudden glare at her, Clarke just smiling sheepishly in response. In the three years that they’d lived here, Octavia had visited so often the apartment was practically a second home, and she had no trouble sifting through. Clarke had to hide her wince at the metallic clangs as Octavia scavenged their stuff. Her hearing was still sensitive from the last day of turning.

“Shit!” Octavia hissed and instantly Clarke’s head whipped around from where she’d been lounging on the couch.

“You right O?” Clarke asked, sliding off the couch anyway and approaching her. Octavia was clutching at her hand. She cursed again and brought her finger to her mouth. An open chest of drawers was at her waist, a mess pile of kitchen utensils that Clarke had the futile hope of organising one day.

Octavia pulled her finger out of her mouth. “Yeah I’m fine, just cut my finger on one of your damn knives in the drawer.” She scowled as she looked up to her. “Do you either of you know anything about organised and clean spaces? Like, really? At least put the sharp knives in a different drawer Jesus.”

Clarke froze. Raven had been following after her, and at her sudden halt Raven bumped into her back. “Hey, what the fuck Griffin?” she growled, but Clarke didn’t really hear her, as all she saw was Octavia’s sliced finger.

The blood welling in the cut.

Octavia frowned at her. “Clarke? What’s wrong?” she glanced down. “The cut’s fine, seriously. Just a scratch.”

She pulled in a shaky breath in an attempt to calm her suddenly racing heart, but this was the wrong decision, because with it she brought in a mouthful of the metallic smell. She could taste it on her tongue. Instantly she was being hit with memories of the last time she had tasted blood in her mouth, the copper taste, and the way a sick part of her couldn’t get enough of it.

Octavia took a step towards her and Clarke lurched back. She realised she was panting, and the more Octavia tried to approach her the more Clarke back paddled until she was bumping into the couch.

“Clarke?” Octavia tried again, but Clarke’s eyes hadn’t moved of the blood. She shouldn’t have come. Octavia shouldn’t have come. Normally she had some ounce of control, but she’d just turned last night, had shifted for three nights in a row. Her wolf was the closest to the surface it ever was in these months. And through the thundering of her pulse in her ears she could feel the creature waking up inside her.

Raven was suddenly in front of her, grabbing her shoulders and taking up her view. “Clarke, Clarke look at me.”

Her entire body was shaking. Her throat was so dry it hurt to swallow.

Firm hands shifted off her shoulders to her cheeks. Raven made it so Clarke was forced to look her in the eye. “Just breathe,” Raven whispered quiet, and Clarke blinked, feeling the smallest ounce of control come back. But her grip on her sanity was unsure like hands digging into the sand as she was dragged.

Clarke snatched at that brief flicker of control with her entirety though, so she ripped herself out of Raven’s grip and stumbled for the front door. She ignored Raven’s calls after her, blocking out all sound, hearing nothing but the rushing of her blood in her ears and the rapid stuttered breaths of her lungs. She jerked the door open and ran.

She ran and she hated the part that wanted to go back.

-

The streets were mostly empty as Lexa walked.

They’d been searching for nearly half the day now. Indra had reported a couple hours ago that they had picked up a trail within the woods, but it had led nowhere. Still, it was enough to motivate the search to keep going, and though Lexa would have preferred to be out in the forest seeking for that scent as a wolf, she was needed here within the city. She and Anya were the only ones with the actual scent, or the closest they could get. Anya was in charge of the teams within the humongous forest. Lexa was for the town.

They had split up a long while ago. She was alone as she walked down the pavement, eyes constantly flitting around her surroundings with her senses on high alert. It was the same as it always was though, the standard streets smells of petrol and grease, though there were some nice, subtle scents, like the bakery further up the road and coffee from the shop across the street. Nothing of the _ripa_ though. She suspected it was hiding within the woods anyway. They stretched for miles, and with the rabid mentality of a reaper she doubted it would risk hiding within the town.

Still. She needed to be sure.

She refused to have another innocent die while she was here.

Lexa kept walking, but she thought that she’d exhausted this area of town enough. Her and her team had combed through most of Polis by now, and they’d been catching traces of the scent of a wolf, though she wasn’t sure whether it was the _ripa’s_ or not. The scent on the body had been too faint to properly catalogue, and the one they’d been picking up across town, Lexa was unable to tell who it belonged to. For all she knew it could even belong to Cage.

Though she doubted it. Even if Cage cruel and viciously intelligent, able to mess with werewolf biology itself, she didn’t think even he could change something so intrinsic as his scent. She still kept her guard up though. She had learnt from past mistakes of underestimating him.

She had just given up, sighing and turning a corner when Lexa all of a sudden froze. Every muscle in her tensed. Slowly, Lexa tilted her head up, taking a deep breath of air through her nose and straining her hearing.

 _There_.

A werewolf. She didn’t recognise it, so it wasn’t one of her own. She felt her heart suddenly kick up in her chest, and she was careful as she lowered herself and stuck close to the buildings to the right of her as she followed the scent. It was recent. Very by the intensity of it. Lexa was a little confused at how enticing the scent was, the strange warmth it made her feel in her chest. Even if she should have been readying herself for a fight and raising her hackles, the opposite happened, and Lexa—for the first time in years—actually felt her wolf relax.

She shook the feeling off as best she could.

A part still lingered.

She saw it was coming from an alleyway just up ahead, and Lexa scanned the streets, double checking they were empty before her hand slid down into her boot and pulled out a small knife. She flicked it between her fingers, palming the weapon and slowing her pace as she approached the entry into the alleyway. Lexa took in a breath, not expecting it when she caught a mouthful of the scent.

Her shoulders relaxed almost subconsciously and she frowned.

 _Get it together_ , she growled at herself. She let out one last breath before she jumped in with her knife raised.

She had been right. There was a werewolf hiding in the brick-stoned alley, but their back was resting against the wall and they had been sitting down, their head in their hands. They were wearing just a simple grey trackies and shirt. It was a blonde, and Lexa was used to constant aggression with their kind, to weakness never being showed until your last breath. But when Lexa had that second, the breath just after she jumped in, she saw the woman as she sat in the alley with her head in her hands.

And despite what she was, she looked small.

She just looked small.

But then she noticed Lexa’s presence and bolted to her feet, up within a blink. She lurched back as Lexa stood, a little stunned as her hand remained raised with her knife clutched within, staring at the werewolf who looked terrifying now, teeth bared and growling low.

Lexa hadn’t been expecting her to look so beautiful, but the moment that thought entered her head she inwardly scowled and shook the notion away. It didn’t matter of appearances, it was still a werewolf who she didn’t know on her territory; she couldn’t let her guard down. And anyway, it wasn’t like she was even _that_ pretty—

_Focus!_

The werewolf backed up a few more paces, and when Lexa didn’t advance on her, the growl slowly died off. Not completely Lexa noted, but it reduced to a barely-there soft rumble. Almost a purr. Lexa blinked, and she watched numbly as the werewolf frowned slightly at her, sniffing the air.

There was astonishment that brightened her features—dangerously gorgeous features Lexa realised with some horror—before her expression darkened again and became unreadable. Lexa found herself more than a little taken with the seemingly never-ending depths of her blue eyes. She forcefully snapped herself from her daze. This was ridiculous.

“Who are you?” the werewolf growled, and Lexa couldn’t help but raise a brow. Somehow she managed to get her voice back. Slowly, she lowered her knife, but keeping it sure in her grip.

“Who am I?” Lexa repeated, tilting her head. Nearly all of their kind knew who she was. She was the one who united the packs—not an easy feat considering how territorial Alphas tended to be. Even the banished knew of her, her scent. “You do not know?”

The blonde furrowed her brow. Her growl finally faded away. “Why would I?” she questioned with obvious suspicion, and Lexa pretended that the low rasp of her voice didn’t send chills down her spine. She needed to regain control. She blamed her wild thoughts on stress.

Lexa’s mask remained carefully blank, though the smallest bit of curiosity leaked through. “I am Heda.” She said slowly, and when the werewolf still gave her that blank stare, she went on. Not that it should be needed. “Lexa. _Leksa kom Trikru_.”

The blonde arched a single brow. “You’ve given me three different names.”

Lexa hated it, but she felt her lips twitch with their amusement. She smothered the expression quickly though. She dared a step forward, watching as the werewolf’s shoulders instantly rose and she bared her teeth again. But unlike before, there was no growl. It was a warning.

Which Lexa found quite strange. It had been a very long time since she’d last been challenged. Her lack of knowledge was concerning though. This was meant to be a humans only town. She was not told of a werewolf residing here. If she was lucky, perhaps the blonde werewolf was just passing through, and Lexa could go to her Alpha and give her a verbal lashing for trespassing Trikru territory and be done with it.

But Lexa was rarely lucky.

“My name is Lexa.” She started, pulling her foot back and watching as the blonde’s face relaxed, her teeth no longer bared. “Heda is my title. Trikru is my territory.”

“You’re a werewolf.” The blonde said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement. Lexa frowned slightly before she replied.

“Yes.”

Their shared stare made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

After a heavy silence, Lexa braved to speak again. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

There was a beat where she hesitated on answering, and Lexa found herself stiffening at the challenge to her order, but then the werewolf started speaking and Lexa relaxed again. “Clarke.” She answered, and Lexa narrowed her eyes when she didn’t go on.

“And your pack?” Lexa insisted, but Clarke just furrowed her brows again, harder than before. Like she was genuinely confused.

“Pack?” she asked, like she had never heard the word before. “What do you mean?”

Worry planted a thick seed in Lexa’s gut, clawing at her insides from within. “You are packless then.” She sighed. Great. Another mutt. She knew this Clarke couldn’t be the werewolf that had killed the girl, she was far too sane to be a reaper. Plus, she seemed to have no idea who she was, which could only mean one thing. A very worrying one thing. Lexa stepped forward again, but this time Clarke didn’t bare her teeth. Lexa took that as progress. “Where are you from? Who was your Alpha?”

“Alpha?” she just repeated confused.

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “Your leader. Where did you come from before here?”

Clarke took a step back, suspicion and distrust making her eyes hard. “Why the hell would I tell you that?”

“Because you walk my territory.” Lexa snapped. “And you do not smell of Trikru. Meaning, this is not your land to walk. So, I will ask you again.” When she advanced this time she drew herself up, hackles rising and hands clenching around her knife, Clarke visibly swallowing and inching back at the sight of it. “Who are you, and where do you come from?”

There was a beat of silence where Lexa thought she was going to have to actually fight this mutt, when Clarke thankfully answered. “Arkadia. And I already told you. I’m Clarke.” She paused before adding, “Clarke Griffin.”

Lexa raised her chin. She stopped her approach. They were closer now, just out of arms length. “Arkadia. The human city to the south?”

Clarke looked confused and unsettled by the use of the word ‘human’ but she still nodded, if very stiffly.

Lexa thought she knew what this was now though. Another problem. Because, once again, she’d somehow pissed off the universe and it had decided to get back at her. “When were you bitten?”

It was the only explanation. Clarke didn’t know who she was, didn’t have an Alpha and hadn’t shown one ounce of submission since she’d met her. Which, while amusing to Lexa, it was also dangerous—it was too genuine to be a trick, or at least she believed so. There was something about her that made Lexa inclined to believe her. And it definitely wasn’t the way her scent made her want to bury her nose in her neck or how the longer she stayed in her presence the more the warmth spread in her belly—

Lexa was brought out of her mental spiral by Clarke’s soft reply. Though there was still a clear hardness to her voice. “Three years ago.”

“And you haven’t been brought in to a pack in that entire time?” Lexa pressed, daring another step forward. Clarke swallowed and seemed to tremble with the effort to hold in her snarl. At least the mutt was learning.

“No. I’ve never met any of your ‘packs’. I got bit, and my life got ruined. No welcome brochure.”

Lexa ignored the bitterness in her voice, instead blinking slowly as she took the new information in. “You have been alone this entire time? Hiding here?”

She could hear Clarke grind her teeth. Lexa’s eyes trailed her neck as her throat bobbed heavily with the weight of her swallow. “Not hiding. But… yeah. I’ve been here.”

Lexa released a sharp breath before cursing. She spun around and stepped away from the mutt, the new problem to add to her ever-growing list. She had enough to deal with, what with Cage, this _ripa_ attack. And now she had a mutt to take care of? One bitten, and, somehow surviving for three entire years with no clue of what world they had entered?

She would need to find the wolf responsible for turning her. Turning wasn’t done without the permission of the Alpha. Arkadia was still in Trikru territory, but perhaps Indra had her turned without her knowing? Or, the far more likely option, some wolf had gone rogue and turned a human without permission. Which meant she would be required to track them and put them down. It was a risk of exposure to turn someone without the Alpha knowing, and the punishment for anything to do with exposure was death.

“Were you the one that killed that girl?” Clarke asked, pulling Lexa out of her musings. She turned around, though she hadn’t fully turned her back to her, not trusting the mutt yet.

And despite everything, Lexa couldn’t help the surprised half-smile that tugged at her lips. Though it resembled more a smirk. “You would accuse me of such crimes?” she goaded. Sure, she knew Clarke was a problem, but it was refreshing to have someone so genuinely clueless on who she was. And what things she simply didn’t do with her.

For one, accusing Heda of crimes punishable by death. A bold move to most. But in this moment nothing more than a question between distrustful strangers.

At Clarke’s continued heavy stare, like she’d actually go for her if Lexa’s answer was incorrect, Lexa let show her amusement and tilted her head. “No. I would never do such a thing.”

Clarke’s eyes didn’t move off her. It was obvious she was trying to determine if she was lying, but Lexa wasn’t, so while Clarke’s eyes narrowed eventually she pulled back and nodded stiffly at her.

“Good.” She muttered. Lexa was quite intrigued to learn more of Clarke, though it was worrying how she was more interested in coming to understand who Clarke was herself, rather than the important things—like who had bitten her and turned a human.

Lexa had just opened her mouth to ask a question when her phone pinged from her back pocket. Clarke’s eyes instantly snapped to the source of the sound, and Lexa just barely bit back her aggravated sigh as she reached to her pocket and pulled the device out, glancing at the screen. It was a text from Anya. She’d found something and needed her.

When she looked up she saw Clarke was expectantly looking at her. For a moment Lexa met her gaze, finding herself pulled without thought towards the blue of her eyes, and she realised she had never met someone with a shade like that before. It was entrancing really, just how _blue_ they were. She was convinced she could fall into them and never reach the bottom.

Lexa didn’t seem to notice how Clarke stared at her in the exact same way.

She shoved the thought away of those enticing eyes and glanced to her phone once more, typing a quick message of her agreement that she would be there soon before she slid the device back into her pocket. “I am needed elsewhere,” Lexa started, and she didn’t understand nor like the disappointment that rose in her gut. “I suggest you remain wary of the woods. There is another mutt around that is far more hostile than me.”

Clarke stood still, shoulders still knotted tightly as Lexa began her retreat. She waited till she was far enough way that if Clarke went for her with her back turned she could avoid the attack, facing around and leaving. Except, there was something that kept her tethered, made her hesitate, because just as she was about to leave the darkening alleyway she paused and she glanced over her shoulder to Clarke.

“We will meet again. I suggest you stay in town, if you run, the consequences will not be pleasant.” Lexa warned, and she watched as Clarke sucked in a shaky breath. Lexa took in one last take of the air around her, ignoring how Clarke’s scent urged her to retreat back to her, offering Clarke a single nod before she turned back around and left the alley.

She had just turned the corner when she heard Clarke’s quiet mutter as she left.

“Goodbye Lexa.” She said softly.

Lexa ignored the way that Clarke said her name and how it made her insides curl.

Mutts were nothing but trouble. Packless wolves with no leader, no Alpha to follow. They were unpredictable and untrustworthy, difficult to contain and control. They were everything an Alpha hated.

And apparently, mutts were beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a side note that I’m not a medical professional in anyway and there’ll probably need to be just a little bit of suspension for belief. i try to research as much as possible but I'm just a teenager with google, so please don’t eviscerate me for not being entirely accurate.
> 
> but! i hope you guys liked that. im really enjoying this au and hopefully ill write the next update just as quick, no promises tho. anyway, thank you for reading. really brightens my day. wish you all a good one.
> 
> translations:  
> Sha Heda - Yes Commander  
> Ha yu Gostos? - How are you Gustus?  
> Ai ste os - I am good  
> strikon - Little one  
> Ripa - Reaper  
> Jusgafen - Bloodlust (sidenote: i made this word up by combining blood (jus) and need (gafen), hence, bloodlust)  
> Leksa kom Trikru - Lexa of the Tree People


	3. Don't Trust Nobody But Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lexa: *does something extraordinarily gay* hm? Oh yeah it’s a werewolf thing. Yep. Mhm, all werewolves do it, hundred percent, totally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> went on a total writing spree, so heres the next chapter way early! dont expect this to be a regular thing!! im a lazy cunt whose just got slammed with a wave of creativity!! (thats a lie, im procrastinating by writing bc i just Love suffering)  
> also, minor disclaimer for some lowkey violence and a small spot of death.  
> (for that Full Immersion listen to: The Fold by Wickerbird)

She didn’t know what to do at first.

She just ran. All she knew was she had to get _away_ , far away from where she could smell Octavia’s blood. She had no destination, didn’t think her mind was even present enough to have one, so she simply went in whatever way her feet took her. She ended up passing by a coffee shop until her eyes caught sight of an alley, and though there was still an urge to keep _moving_ , to put distance between her and home, her legs were burning and she was panting.

She slipped into the empty alleyway and sunk down into the wall. It wasn’t long before her head was falling into her hands and she was screwing her eyes shut, trying to think past anything but the memories that were slamming into her head. It had been so long since she’d last smelt blood, and yet in the past few days it seemed blood was all she’d been running into.

She had been so caught up in her own head that it taken her a second to notice that suddenly she wasn’t alone.

Her encounter with Lexa was strange. Clarke had never met another werewolf before, and it was jarring meeting someone who had a scent that was actually similar to hers and wasn’t the usual smell of human that she had gotten so used to. And it was like before, how there were parts that were similar to her own, but also parts that were different.

She smelt of pine and woodchips. But there was also something underneath it, something that Clarke couldn’t name. All she knew was that it was subtle and soft and, for some entirely unknown reason, it made Clarke feel at ease. Made her feel more inclined to back down. She hadn’t understood it then, and she didn’t understand it now.

How the moment she caught a whiff of her scent, she felt her wolf settle.

Which had _never_ happened in these entire three years. Not once. Her wolf was a constant force that lived under her skin and was endlessly trying to break out of it. She always had to make a continued effort to restrain herself; being constantly aware of how close it was, if there were any triggers nearby. But with Lexa, this complete and utter stranger, she had felt more at peace than any moment in all these years.

It terrified her. She didn’t understand it, and she hated that she didn’t. It was a little ironic, how the fact that she felt at ease was _making_ her uneasy. The feeling was so jarring that when she eventually managed to come back to herself and stumbled back into the apartment she was still a little out of it.

Clarke looked up once the front door was locked, and the moment she had slid on the door chain she heard a parade of feet and more out of instinct than anything she spun around at the sound. But it was only Raven, whose shoulders visibly deflated with their relief at seeing her.

“Oh thank god you’re alright,” she breathed, promptly lunging forward and pulling her into a hug. Clarke hadn’t been expecting it and stood there stunned for a few seconds, though quickly she was wincing at the painful throb from her shoulder at how hard Raven was holding her. The heartbeat the hiss had escaped her lips though Raven was lurching back. “Fuck, I’m sorry I forget about the…”

Clarke offered a shaky smile, ignoring the dull ache. “It’s fine, just still a little sensitive.” She frowned as she glanced over Raven’s shoulder. “Where’s Octavia?”

“I made her go home, figured after… what happened it’d be better if she wasn’t here when you came back.”

Clarke swallowed. She nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Good call.” She muttered quietly.

Raven stepped back, hands twitching nervously at her sides. Her eyes flicked her up and down. Clarke couldn’t stop thinking about the werewolf she’d met, and Raven was quick to take notice of Clarke’s lack of mind because soon her eyes were widening and she was moving forward. Her hands grabbed Clarke’s shoulders, forcibly shaking her. “Hey, hey, look at me. What happened when you left? You didn’t…” she pulled in a shaky breath, seeming to rally herself to force the words out. “You didn’t kill someone did you?” she whispered.

Clarke jolted back to the present at those words. “What? No, of course not.” She instantly said, and Raven stared at her a moment longer, as if trying to work out whether she was lying. Clarke realised the reason for Raven’s concern though. Normally Clarke was quite a present person, always having a constant awareness of her surroundings. But whenever something jarring happened, she tended to space out and dissolve into a state of numbness.

And the last time she had done that was…

“Raven,” Clarke said, bringing up her hands and grasping Raven’s wrists from where she still held her shoulders, gently pulling them down. “It’s alright, I’m fine I promise. I got out and away before anything happened. I ran and hid in an alleyway until it passed. No one is hurt.”

“You’re sure?” Raven asked, her voice soft and scared.

Clarke squeezed her hands reassuringly. “I swear. Didn’t even hiss at the street cat.”

Raven let out a shaky laugh at that, and Clarke smiled at seeing some of the tension ease from Raven’s back. She could still smell her fear and nerves, but it was less now, meaning she thankfully believed her.

“What did you tell O anyway? She’s stubborn as hell.” Clarke questioned, letting go of Raven’s hands and wandering towards the couch. She suspected they were going to talk for a while considering what had happened. They hadn’t had an incident like that in a while. Normally Clarke was always careful about the site of blood, as it tended to be a trigger for her wolf to rise.

Raven scoffed as she followed after her. “You’re telling me. Nah, she was alright. I told her you were still shaken from the fight, that the sight of blood still made you uneasy. She was doubtful but she went with it. I think she’s just worried for you more than anything.”

Clarke sighed as she sat herself on the couch, slipping off her shoes and tucking her feet under her legs so she sat cross-legged. “She’s not suspicious or anything though?” she persisted, her eyes following Raven as she sat on the other end of the couch. They were facing each other, and Raven mimicked her position, both of them seeming to lean back at the same time on the armrests.

“I think she knows there’s something going on with you. I mean, you did drop out of med school after four years with no word or reason why,” Raven shrugged, “she knows something happened. Probably thinks you’re on drugs.”

Clarke couldn’t help but smile slightly at that. “That would have been fun. Though I don’t know if they’d be worse or better than lycanthropy.”

Raven huffed a laugh. “Would have been easier to deal with I’ll say that. Would have just sent you off to rehab.” She looked up to her then, appearing contemplative. “You reckon they’d have that, rehab for werewolves? Sounds like a gap in the market if you ask me.”

“You’re the genius here, start it yourself. Although it may be hard to advertise without the secret getting out.”

“Would also have to _find_ more werewolves.” Raven frowned as she leaned her neck back, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe I should put an ad up on craigslist.”

Clarke lost her smile. She took in a breath, figuring she should bring up the _other_ thing that had happened when she was out. Plus, she was still unnerved about it. She couldn’t get the feeling out of her head. “Hey Raven, there’s something you should know,” she started, and Raven merely grunted as she continued looking up. Clarke bit her lip. It’d probably be best to just get it out. “I met another werewolf.”

Raven’s head snapped up so quick Clarke was worried she’d get whiplash. “ _What._ ” She gaped open mouthed at her and Clarke suddenly felt nervous.

“Uh, yeah. When I was out. I ran into another.”

Raven blinked at her before she squealed excitedly. “Holy shit! No fucking way! Really?” she gushed, suddenly scooting forward across the couch, still keeping her legs crossed. “What happened? How did it go? Did you fight? Talk? Ki—“

“Raven,” Clarke cut off, gently clasping the overexcited girl in front of hers shoulders. “Breathe.”

Raven paused, taking in an almost comical deep breath. Clarke raised a brow in question. “Right. Thank you. I’m good, promise.”

“Okay.” Clarke pulled her hands back into her lap. “Try again. One at a time.”

Raven was still grinning widely with her enthusiasm. “Okay, okay. So, what were they like? Were they hot?” her smile wavered suddenly, “hold on, they weren’t the one who killed that girl right?”

“No, she wasn’t,” Clarke instantly said, and Raven lit up.

“She? It’s a girl?”

Clarke didn’t understand why she was anxious talking about this. “Yeah, she looked about my age. Twenty-five, twenty-six.” She wrung her hands in her lap, and, because Raven was still watching her expectantly for details, Clarke decided to sacrifice her dignity. “And… yeah. She was… reasonably attractive.”

Raven brightened like she’d swallowed the sun. “ _Reasonably attractive_? Oh my god, it’s finally happened. I can hear the wedding bells.”

“Raven!” Clarke hissed, slapping her arm. Despite her annoyance she was mindful to keep the hit gentle.

“I’m sorry!” Raven beamed, and she didn’t look sorry at all. “It’s just… god, she must be hot as fuck for you to admit that. Who is she? What’s her name? What’s she like? Was she a bitch?”

Clarke blinked at the onslaught of questions, though her expression eventually settled into a disapproving glare. “Did you just ask if she’s bitch solely for pun value and nothing else?”

Raven smirked. “Well, I was tempted to say ‘whose this bitch’ but, you know, works either way.”

Clarke glanced up to the ceiling. Unfortunately, Zeus did not, in fact, strike Raven down for her. “Raven. You have been making that bitch joke… for three years. When will you _ever_ stop?”

“When you quit being a bitch.”

Raven’s cheerful grin was wiped off when Clarke lunged forward. She yelped as Clarke shoved her back into couch and hovered over her, lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Her arms bracketed the side of Raven’s head, and despite Raven’s dangerous position, she still had the nerve to smirk up at her.

“If you wanted a kiss Griffin all you’d have to do was ask.”

Clarke stared at her, her snarl slowly pulling back. She narrowed her eyes down at her. “You’re insufferable.” She muttered. She shook her head before pulling back, letting Raven readjust herself so she was sitting up again. Clarke threw a glare at her, which, as always, Raven let slide off.

“Alright, alright, no more puns. But, seriously, who was she? What happened?” she asked again, the excitement back in her voice. Clarke debated saying nothing out of spite, but in all honesty she needed someone to talk to.

“Her name is Lexa. She’s… I don’t know. She talked all this stuff about territories and Alphas… something about me being packless. Told me to stay out of the woods, that there’s another mutt around.” Clarke explained, and Raven’s face lost some of its eagerness, hardening slightly.

“The werewolf that killed the girl.” She muttered darkly. Clarke nodded absently.

“I think so. It was… it was strange. It was kind of like there was this invisible line between us. I can’t explain it, but she must have known it was there, because she never tried to approach me, not fully. Sometimes she’d dared a step forward, but the second she’d cross that line I’d just snarl without thinking and she would inch back.” Clarke sighed, frustration making her brow furrow. “I don’t understand. I was so on edge but at the same time… I wasn’t.”

Raven frowned slightly at her. “What do you mean?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know. I don’t understand.” She glanced down to her fidgeting fingers, watching as they fiddled with a loose bit of string poking out from the fabric of the couch. “It’s just… you know how my wolf is always restless? How it’s just, like a constant battle?”

Raven’s gaze softened. “Yeah, I know.”

Clarke forced herself to look up to meet her gaze. “I was calm Raven. When she was there, _it_ was calm. And that’s never… that’s never happened.” She let go of the piece of string with an aggravated huff, running her hands through her loose curls. “And I just don’t fucking _understand_.”

Raven shuffled closer and shifted so she was facing forwards, her arm slinging over Clarke’s shoulder and pulling her in. Raven’s other arm came up once Clarke’s nose was in the crook of her neck, wrapping around her and holding her close. “You’re alright, it’s alright. We’ll work it out, yeah? Track down this werewolf girl if we have to.”

Clarke sighed, taking in a deep breath through her nose of Raven’s scent. It was calming at least. She knew that scent. It was a constant throughout life, even when she was human. It had the same smoky tang that only Raven seemed to have.

Raven rubbed her hands down Clarke’s back. “You’re okay,” she murmured softly, and Clarke made herself believe her.

She took another breath in, and just as she was about to pull away she frowned, catching something sharp and metallic in her nose. She inched away from Raven’s neck and sniffed again, following the smell and realising it was coming from Raven’s pocket. Without really thinking she reached a hand into the pocket—ignoring Raven’s surprised yelp—and pulled out what was inside.

“You tryna’ cop a feel Griffin?” Raven laughed, but Clarke’s brow was still creased as she leaned back and examined what was in her hand. It actually stung a bit, the major give away that the dented piece of metal in her hand was the silver bullet.

“You kept the bullet?” She asked quietly, glancing up at her. Raven sighed. She shrugged.

“Yeah, I did. I don’t know, it just… it felt weird throwing it away.”

“It’s a bullet.” Clarke said. It was still stinging her hand, and she was quick to deposit it back into Raven’s palm, who seemed to have been expecting the reaction. “Why would you keep it?”

“Morbid curiosity? Look, if it really pisses you off I’ll throw it away but—“

“No, it’s fine,” Clarke interrupted, Raven looking up at her nervously. “It’s fine.” She said again, but she kept her voice gentle and assuring. “Just, maybe keep it somewhere else. You do live with a werewolf, you know.”

Raven laughed softly, nodding her head and slipping it back into her pocket. “Gotcha. I’ll keep it somewhere else. Don’t want you choking on it or something.”

Clarke shuddered at the imagined pain of how much that’d hurt. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Raven grinned at her again.

They chatted mindlessly for a little while longer before deciding to do something for dinner. Their pantry was still empty—Clarke, once again, getting a reprimanding glare from Raven—and so they opted for ordering in some Chinese takeaway. As always Clarke got an absurd amount for herself while Raven got a normal _human_ amount, and when it arrived and Clarke picked it up downstairs at the front of the building she grinned widely at the delivery boy who seemed a little stunned that all that food was for her.

Dinner was quieter than usual. Clarke didn’t try to push for conversation. While Raven had clearly been excited before for her discovery of a new werewolf, the events of the past few days, and especially last night, were still present in both of their minds. Clarke caught Raven glancing at her shoulder every once in a while. The way her jaw would clench. The sharp breath she’d suck in. When it happened for the third time Clarke gave in and snuck a hand over and grasped Raven’s.

“I don’t blame you.” She’d muttered softly, and Raven of course had laughed it off and pulled away.

“I’m fine wolfie, I don’t need you acting like Bell does with O.”

Raven’s voice was meant to be reassuring, but Clarke’s stare remained concerned as she could hear the slight shake in it. She could also make out Raven’s rapid heartbeat. She let her be though, knowing Raven would come to her when she was ready.

It was two in the morning now. Clarke was lying in her bed, staring up into the painted ceiling. She had painted it about a year after they’d moved in. She had recurring trouble with sleeping, and eventually had grown fed up of the consistent sight of the blank wall. Eventually she had gone out, bought a bunch of art supplies, cleared the space and spent the next days doing nothing but paint. Now, there was a patch of black on the otherwise plain ceiling, positioned right where Clarke’s line of sight was when she lied down.

She stared at the star scene she’d done. At the beginning, she had had the intent to do a galaxy, and she had gotten a range of reds and oranges with that goal in mind—but in the end, it was something else that had come out.

She had painted a full moon.

It both terrified her and relaxed her simultaneously.

With a sigh Clarke rolled over onto her side, staring at the red numbers of her alarm clock. Still two o’clock. Still the middle of the night. And she was _still_ awake. It was beyond irritating that she couldn’t sleep, but more was that she knew the reason. She had tried to get it out of her head but she simply couldn’t, her feelings and thoughts just wouldn’t move on, and it was driving her mad.

Because she couldn’t stop thinking of that fucking _calmness._

Her eyes narrowed as she watched the numbers blink from a twenty-five to a twenty-six. It was obvious she wasn’t going to get any sleep at this rate. With a small growl she shoved off her doona and slid to her feet. Her hands were twitching with what she knew she needed to do, so Clarke was quiet and careful as she slipped out of her room, not needing to turn on any lights as she could see perfect in the dark. She drifted downstairs soundlessly, passing the kitchen and the couch. Wandering over to a large closet that sat near the door to the bathroom she eased it open and smiled at seeing what she wanted.

She set it up silently. Pushed away the coffee table and rolled out a tarp, setting the easel down on top. She grabbed a blank canvas, got out her paints and finally felt some part of her relax from where it had constantly been restless, letting herself getting lost in the mindless process of preparing everything and getting ready. When she was done she sat on her stool, stared at the blank canvas in front of her. She frowned slightly before she got up and opened up the window blinds.

It was a clear sky. The stars were out, and the moon was near complete, slowly beginning its retraction now that the full moon was passed. For a moment she just stood there, staring at it, an aching fascination that tugged at her gut. Eventually she managed to shake herself from her daze and sat on the stool again. The moon was bright enough and angled so it bled perfectly onto the canvas.

Clarke took a deep breath, before she picked up her brush and began to paint.

She didn’t have a specific image in her mind, but she had that _feeling_ , and that feeling she chased right up to sunrise. She chased it until her wrists were aching. She chased it until her stomach started rumbling with its lack of food. She chased it to the point where she forgot she was a person at all and became entirely and utterly engulfed in it.

She had just finished one of the final strokes when she felt a hand graze her arm. Clarke jumped and spun around, body tensing and readying itself for an attack when she saw it was just Raven, who instantly raised her hands—the one that wasn’t holding a steaming mug of coffee—and stepped back.

“Hey woah, it’s alright. Just your friendly neighbourhood Raven.” She placated, and Clarke relaxed. She blinked once she realised that the apartment was lit up with the morning light now. Her eyes ached.

Clarke frowned. “What time is it?” she muttered, her voice scratchy.

Raven raised a brow, but still she reached into the pocket of her pajamas and pulled out her phone, glancing at the screen. “It’s nine.” Clarke blinked slowly and Raven furrowed her brow. “How long have you been up?” she muttered warily and Clarke at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“Uh… about half two?”

Raven sighed. “You’re an idiot.” She murmured. Still, she handed over the coffee in her hands, Clarke just now noticing it was for her. “Good morning, by the way. Guess I have my answer for how you slept.” Clarke clutched the pleasantly warm coffee in her hands, sipping the liquid and humming at the taste. God, she was thirsty. She felt Raven walk around her, tilting her head as she scanned over the canvas, the blotchy colours of black and green. “Eyes?” Raven asked, still staring at the painting.

Clarke leaned back as she appraised her own work. Her fingers were still wet with paint. “Eyes.” She confirmed in a whisper.

She hadn’t known what she was doing at first. But the longer she lost herself to it, the more she began to understand what she was doing, how her strokes kept arching and swirling again and again, trying to replicate what she’d seen. She had tried to chase that feeling, and she’d caught it by creating what had _made_ the feeling in the first place. Because while Clarke knew Lexa’s scent had the odd undercurrent that calmed her wolf, it was also her eyes. Those damn eyes, that whenever she looked into them, she felt that peace.

She had spent most of her time trying to get the exact shade. Making it darker, making lighter, trying to catch the way it captured light and reflected it so gorgeously. But even now, Clarke didn’t think she’d gotten it. She had surrounded the green eyes within a smoke of black, making them seem like they were glowing out from the shadows, as if a predator waiting to jump.

“The shade isn’t quite right,” Clarke muttered after a comfortable silence. Frustration made her clench her jaw. “Hers are different.”

“Hers?” Raven asked quietly, blinking herself back to the present. Clarke said nothing, just kept staring at the painting with a frown. In the corner of her eye she saw Raven shake her head. “God, it’s crazy how talented you are. Shit’s incredible Clarke.”

But Clarke just shook her head. “It’s not right.” She muttered again. And while it still didn’t feel like she’d gotten right, she felt more at ease than she did last night. It had helped, and really, that was what mattered more than anything. With a nod to herself she got off her stool, wincing at stiffness in her body from being in one position for so long. She sipped the coffee again, thanking Raven and getting a smile before she placed the coffee on the pushed aside table and grabbed her paints so she could wash them in the sink.

“Need help?” Raven asked, pointing to the brushes that Clarke had started to clean out.

“Nah, I’m fine. Can you heat up the takeaway leftovers though? I’ve gotta get to work soon.”

Raven nodded and pulled open the fridge. “We’re keeping that piece right?” she said, ducking her head in and shoving her hand around to find the food from last night.

Clarke paused from where she was rinsing out a brush. She bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I was gonna’ throw it out.”

She heard a thud as Raven presumably tore her head out too fast. Clarke’s eyes snapped up. Though before she could get a word in of if she was okay Raven was turning to her with disbelieving eyes.

“What? You can’t throw that out, it’s gorgeous.” She stared at her as if she was an alien.

Clarke shrugged. “The shade isn’t right,” she said quietly, but Raven heard and scoffed.

“Griffin, Clarke, no. Please, don’t throw it out. Can we hang it up?”

“We already have far too much of my shit hung up.”

“For good reason!” Raven exclaimed, seeming to abandon the fridge entirely and appearing at her side. Clarke sighed and continued cleaning the brushes, not looking to the face that was now right next to her. “Come on, please. You haven’t done a painting in ages.”

Clarke was about to say no again, but then she glanced up and saw Raven’s eyes. She needed this, Clarke realised. Something normal in their lives. Something that had nothing to do with werewolves and killings, something that instead was _human_ —was normal. So with that, Clarke felt her resolve crumble.

“Fine.” She huffed out, and Raven lit up. “We can keep it.”

“Yes! Thank you,” she breathed, the excitement infectious enough that Clarke felt a smile tug at her lips.

“It’s fine, but if you don’t get that food out, I can’t be held responsible for what I may do.”

Raven rolled her eyes, though her grin still remained. “Alright, alright. Better be quick though. You need to shower too before you go, can’t have all your customers leaving cause of how you smell.”

Clarke scowled and Raven ducked out so she was out of swatting range. She rolled her eyes and finished off the last of the brushes. She dried them off and went to put them back in their place, pausing once she was out the kitchen, shifting a glance at the painting. The longer she stared the more she felt her throat dry.

She still didn’t understand it.

But for now, it was enough.

-

Wells grinned when he opened the door to the art store.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked, genuine concern behind his eyes as he looked at her. Clarke offered him a tired smile. Her lack of sleep was catching up with her. Still, she had dealt with worse, so she simply shrugged it off.

“Better.” She answered, slipping past him as he closed the door behind her. She glanced around the store, feeling a sense of peace at the familiarity of it, the scent of paints and charcoal and lead. Wells followed after her as she walked over to the counter.

“You still look a little worse for wear,” he commented cautiously. Clarke glanced up to him as she sat herself on her usual chair behind the counter. There was an dusty old desktop that had habit of screaming through its fans if you left it on for too long, but the rest was relatively clean, which was saying something because Clarke wasn’t the neatest of souls. Though she suspected that had a lot to do with Wells.

Clarke watched Wells, the gentle smile on his face, dark skin soft and warm. His entire presence was warm really. There was just something about him, a kindness so deep rooted into his being it was impossible to hate him. It also meant she felt double the guilt when she had to lie. “Haven’t slept much these past nights,” she answered by way of explanation, because speaking the truth was always far safer. Answering _why_ she hadn’t slept didn’t need to be mentioned.

Wells watched her for a few moments before sighing and shaking his head. “Well, just tell me if it gets too much or you get… light headed or something. It’s a Sunday so, shouldn’t be too chockers.” He lingered a beat, hesitating on pulling away. His dark brows fell into a frown. “And Clarke, I know that… I know that I’m your boss and everything but, I’d like to think we’re friends at this point, or at least on the road to.”

Clarke swallowed. She had a feeling she knew where this was going.

He bit his lip. “You know you can talk to me, right? I’m a good listener. Maybe not the best at _advice_ but, I’m always here if you need me to lend a ear.”

“I’m alright Wells. Just a rough few days.”

She wondered how many times she was going to have to say that.

He gave her one last smile before he finally pulled away, disappearing off into the back. She let out a shaky breath. She knew he had noticed her reoccurrence of sick days. She’d had this job for two and a half years now; it would be impossible for him to not notice, especially considering it was really only just the two of them. Sometimes they have someone else that comes in for a while, but they either drift off or get bored, and Clarke had been the only one who’d stayed.

Wells questioned her a lot on that of course. She was pretty sure that the smile that she sent him every time he asked was probably ingrained into his brain. She never answered. She just laughed and told him she felt safe here. Here, surrounded by nothing but shelves and shelves of art supplies, she felt at home. She felt human. And that humanity she clung onto like to let go would strike her dead.

And maybe in a way it would.

The store remained empty throughout the morning. Clarke managed to sneak in a quick nap when she thought Wells wasn’t looking—she found out later he was, he had just let her be—and after catching a sleep that was only semi-restful, riddled with dreams of those piercing green eyes, she decided she couldn’t spend the day doing nothing. Her hand slipped under the counter to the desk of drawers and she pulled the bottom one out. Inside was a sketchbook, the black cover weathered and worn from repeated use, the plastic spine uneven and poking out slightly.

She tried to draw them again. This time she used pencil, and unlike the large scale of the canvas back at home, these were small, the pair of eyes only reaching across the length of her finger, as wide as her thumbnail. She did multiple, again and again. Made some purposefully dark and some purposefully light, if only so she could work out a scale, a gradient to work out of. It felt a little obsessive and creepy of just how many repeated sets she completed, an entire page filled to the brim now staring back at her, chicken scratch writings crammed next to the green orbs. Tiny questions like _too dark?_ or _too light?_ or _more green?._

It was the very last one where she felt like she finally got it. It was embarrassing the amount of relief and joy that filled her chest. This one was tucked away in the left corner, nudging up against the edge of the paper as if danger of slipping off. And when she looked into those eyes she’d drawn, she felt an echo of that peace, and she knew she’d gotten it.

She was so caught up in the relief at finally getting it that she jumped when the door to the store opened. Her head immediately popped up, and while her hands were already flipping the sketchbook close and slipping it back into its drawer almost subconsciously, her entirety froze when the person’s who’d entered scent drifted by her. Clarke straightened in her seat, staring down the man who was frozen now too.

He was a werewolf.

In the back of her mind she found herself scoffing. She goes three years without meeting a single werewolf, and now within the past two days she has met two. Technically three. The man had a sharp jaw and a square face, dark hair the same shade as his dark brown eyes, surprised and cautious as he stood still, evidently shocked at meeting another of his kind. Or least Clarke assumed so. His skin was pale.

She watched with sharp eyes, every muscle in her coiled as the man gulped before slowly approaching her. She noticed he kept his body posture relaxed and subdued. It eased something she couldn’t name within her, though she was still immensely distrustful.

“Hello,” the man tried, coming to slow stop on the other side of the counter. Clarke continued to stare at him. It seemed to make him uneasy. “I… wasn’t expecting to meet another… you know, here.”

Clarke frowned a little at his reluctance to speak their species name. “Werewolf?” she muttered quietly, knowing that Wells was busy in his office at the back, unable to hear them.

She found it odd when he flinched at the word. “Yeah. Right. Werewolf.” The word seemed to pain him to speak it.

Clarke felt an ounce of sympathy then. She could understand his fear of the word, after all, she was still terrified of it too. “If you’re here to tell me to get off your territory, I’ve already had this talk.”

“I’m sorry?” he blinked at her, seemingly confused. Clarke frowned.

“Is that… not why you’re here?”

“I don’t know anything about whatever… territory dispute you’re over,” he said carefully, and Clarke felt her shoulders ease ever so slightly. “I’m here because my best friend’s dad is an artist, and I was hoping to get him something.”

Clarke raised a brow. “And you chose to come here? You do realise that there are only humans here. Well, were.” She internally shook the thought off. “Why would you come all the way here for some art supplies?”

He chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in a clear show of nerves. “I just moved here actually. I uh… I’ve just come into this whole… ‘werewolf’ thing. I needed someplace new, someplace safe. I didn’t know there was more of… my kind here.”

It was the same thing that Clarke had done. Because of it she felt herself feel an ounce of pity for him. She had had no one when she turned. Sure, she’d had Raven, and Raven was probably the only thing that had kept her sane all these years—but she was human. As much as she could help, at the end of the day, they were two different species. There were some things she simply couldn’t help with.

“Are you alone?” Clarke asked quietly, and he swallowed thickly before nodding slowly.

“What am I going to do, just turn up to my family and tell them their only son is a werewolf that could kill them all in their sleep?” he shrugged, but there was pain it. He took a step back. “Look, I’m sorry for coming in here and… scaring you, or something. I’m just looking for a home. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

He was already turning around. Clarke watched, her fingers twitching as he trudged for the door, the sadness radiating off him. She clenched her fists before she let out her slow breath. Her damn conscience. She hesitated one last second before she called out. “Hey, wait,” she slipped off her stool and went around the counter. The man paused by the door, turning towards her with obvious hope in his eyes. “You didn’t let me answer,” she said quietly.

He didn’t say anything, just watched her expectantly, seemingly too afraid to speak.

She offered him a smile in hopes to put him at ease. “What’s your name?”

He blinked. “My name?”

“Yeah, your name. If you’re going to be sticking around here, it’d be easier if I had something to call you.”

His grin stretched from ear to ear at her response, and though it was obvious it was full of relief, there was something odd about it that Clarke couldn’t quite place. She pushed the thought away though. She felt like she had a duty to him. She had been fucked over those years ago, and even if she was pretty clueless about this werewolf thing, she wasn’t going to let a stranger go through the same thing. She wouldn’t wish it even on her worst enemy.

“Caleb.” The man eventually said, and Clarke smiled.

“Come on, tell me about this best mate’s dad of yours. We’ll pick something out.”

He followed behind her as she led him down the nearest aisle, and she could feel his eyes glued to the back of her head. She paused by the pencils, figuring they could start there and work on from that. Caleb came up to her side. And while there was something strangely attentive in his gaze as he looked at her, he kept a respectful distance.

“Dante Wallace.” Caleb started.

Clarke paused. “Dante Wallace,” she muttered under her breath. Her eyes lit up in their realisation. “Oh yeah, he made that replica of Starry Night that was so good it got confused for the real thing.”

Caleb laughed. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s still sore about that. Gets an angry letter every now and again.”

“So, you have any idea what he’s into? Styles, stuff like that?”

“I know he’s been wanting to paint something for ages, but he keeps going on about how he can’t find the colours.” Caleb explained. Clarke hummed, feet already shuffling as she headed off for the paints.

“What was he wanting to paint?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Mountains.”

-

Caleb stayed a little while longer after he’d gotten the paints.

They chatted a while, and Clarke learned through conversation that he’d been a experimental scientist for a program called the Cerberus Project, something he had spent his life working towards, but with now being turned, he didn’t feel like he could do it. He talked about how he felt lost and out of control, and Clarke could relate greatly, so she offered him a smile and her number so they could keep in contact. He had been reluctant at first at accepting it, but then when she’d said that he didn’t have to be alone in this, he had given in.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet after he left. A few customers came and went, Clarke continued to idly sketch some more, pleased she could replicate the shade now. At times she’d pause and truly stare at it, trailing a hesitant finger across the sketches. There was an ache in her gut whenever she did. It was easy to ignore when she had things to focus on, but in those quiet moments the urge rose up so quickly she feared she would drown in it.

The want to find her again.

Her mum had tried to call her during the day as well. When her phone had lit up, at first she’d thought it was Raven asking her of what to get for their shopping, but when she’d grabbed her phone she saw it was her mother, not her best friend. For a moment she’d done nothing but stare at the screen. But then anger had risen in her chest and she had declined the call.

She didn’t want to talk to her. She needed more time to adjust to… whatever the hell her mother thought she was doing.

How many people were moving into this goddamn town?

Clarke stared up from where she walked through the forest now. She still had a few hours until sundown. Wells had let her off early when she accidently fell asleep again, insisting that she go home and get some rest. She had semi listened to him. She did go and sleep, but only for a couple hours, then she was up again and rifling through the contents of her closet. She pushed the hanging clothes aside until she found the box hidden up in the back, pulling it towards her and taking the lid off. Inside was the hunting knife her father had given her before he passed.

She had decided to go hunting for the wolf that had killed that girl. Lexa had said to stay wary of the forest and that there was another mutt there, meaning: the wolf she was looking was most likely here. It probably wasn’t the best of ideas to do the exact _opposite_ of Lexa’s advice—but she was determined to find the beast. An innocent had died. She wasn’t letting that pass.

Her steps were soft as she walked through the forest. Normally Clarke kept a tight lid on how much presence her wolf had, shoving it as far down as she could go, but now she let the slightest bit out. If only so she could scent deeper and clearer of the air, her steps soft and soundless without thought. She inched forward, ears pricked for any source of sound, and she had just passed a particularly humongous tree that looked so big it almost hit the clouds, when there was a sudden loud _crunch_.

Clarke stilled and ground her teeth. She glanced back towards Raven, who had been trailing behind her. There was a bag of chips in her hand. “Really?” Clarke hissed. “Chips? Here? _Now_?”

“I’m hungry!” Raven defended with a scowl, and Clarke only just kept herself from throwing her into the ground.

“Raven. We are hunting for a werewolf. A werewolf with _ears_. It could probably hear your chumping from the other side of the planet.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Oh, quit being dramatic. You’re just angry ‘cause you wish you’d brought chips too. Alright, alright, I give in. You can have one.”

Clarke stared at her for a good second before she slapped the upside of her head. Raven yelped, though her insult died in her throat at Clarke’s glare. “Put. The chips. Away.”

Raven opened her mouth in what was no doubt a responding argument, so Clarke cut her off before she could.

“ _Now_ Raven. I will only ask you once.”

Raven’s jaw shut and she pouted at her. When that didn’t work she huffed. “Fine.” She grumbled, and Clarke sighed a breath of relief.

“Good, thank you.” She ignored Raven’s glare and faced back around. She started forward again.

There was something oddly calming about the forest. Whenever she was in them she felt a knot relax in her chest. And while it clearly had something to do with her more animal tendencies, she had also loved forests before, from when she was human. When she was little her father used to lead her through them. They’d wander through the woods with no goal in mind, simply just taking in nature and its beauty with awe.

“Never forget Clarke,” he had always said to her when they’d go, smiling that boyish grin that made him seem like he was a teenager, not a weathered adult with a child, “nature is as beautiful as it is dangerous. Fall in love with it all you will, but be careful. There’s a reason roses have thorns.”

She’d never understood him then. But she liked to think she did now. The warning and advice he had given her. The more beautiful it is, the closer you should look. He had always had a habit of talking through metaphors, making her decipher it as she grew trying to understand—

_Crunch._

“Raven!” Clarke snapped, whirling onto her. Raven stood there wide-eyed, halfway through rolling the chip packet up, evidently the reason for the sharp sound.

“I’m doing as you said, putting it away!” she gestured helplessly at her, as if Clarke was the one being ridiculous. “What do you want from me woman?”

“Do you not notice how fucking loud that shit is?” Clarke snarled in a whisper. “Are _trying_ to get us killed?”

“What do you want me to do! I’m not a wizard, I can’t just thrust a wand out and _bam,_ ” she threw up her arms, a few chips escaping out of the open packet, “chips are vanished.”

Clarke sighed sharply through her nose. “Give me the bag.”

Raven blinked at her. “What?”

“Give me the bag Raven.”

Raven, hesitantly, handed over the bag. “What are you going to—“

The packet still had at least half its contents left—which, admittedly still wasn’t that much, considering it was mostly air—and without blinking Clarke squashed it until it was a miniscule ball and shoved it into her pocket. Raven gaped at her.

“You _fucker_. I was saving that for later you sick bastard!”

“Then you should have considered not bringing it, on a _fucking werewolf hunt_.”

They were both breathing hard with their anger. Their burning stares held, nearly nose-to-nose, but Clarke didn’t back down, nor did she have any will to. Eventually, when she was sure Raven was seriously going to either hit her or leave her, she narrowed her eyes and scoffed.

“Fucking ass.” She muttered under her breath. Still, let out a huff and her arms slapped to her sides. “Whatever. Come on. Let’s keep moving, according to you this werewolf’s right around the fucking corner.”

Clarke hesitated a moment, wondering if it was a trick. But Raven just stared expectantly at her, raising a pointed brow, so with some caution she nodded slowly at her. “Alright,” she said warily, as if waiting for Raven to jump at her. “We’ll keep moving.” She frowned a little but turned around. Instead of lagging behind her, Raven came up so she was next to her. Clarke still was waiting for the other shoe to drop but she managed to push the unease away.

They had only been walking for a few minutes when Clarke couldn’t take it anymore.

“I still don’t think you should have come.” She murmured, and like before when she’d voiced her concerns just as she’d left the house and Raven had ran on after her, Raven rolled her eyes.

“Relax, wolfie. I’ll be fine. I trust you won’t let any harm come to me.” She shot her a grin, and this time it was Clarke who rolled her eyes. “Plus,” Raven added, the grin dipping into a smirk, “you’re basically my glorified guard dog.”

Clarke stopped walking. Raven tripped as she pulled herself to a hasty stop. “Say that again Raven.” She muttered, staring her dead in the eye, and Raven hesitated.

She swallowed. That smirk wavered. “Uh…”

Clarke raised a brow.

“Yeah. I’ll be quiet.”

“Smart choice.”

They started walking again. Of course, she had only had a few moments of wonderful silence, until it was broken once more. Clarke only just bit off her sigh.

“And anyway, that wolf killed a person. You know she was only eighteen? How fucked is that. Also, that fucker tried to kill _me_ and made me shoot you.” Clarke glanced to her at that, her features softening. Raven wasn’t looking at her this time. She kept staring resolutely forward, a tick in her jaw. “We’re finding that fucker and putting it down.”

There was something in the way she said it that made Clarke frown. While she didn’t disagree with Raven at all and knew her words were nothing but truth, there was an undercurrent of something else. If Raven was indeed so hell bent on killing this mutt, she wouldn’t be acting like this. Eating chips as they walked and continuously talking. She would have been focused, completely taken with the task, as when Raven Reyes started on something—she didn’t stop until it was done.

Clarke paused and grabbed Raven’s shoulder gently, pulling her to a stop. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Raven scowled at her, but it was different from before.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re nervous,” Clarke said, staring at her as if the answer would reveal itself if she looked hard enough. “Are you scared? Raven, there’s no shame if you are. We can go back.”

“No I’m not—“ Raven pulled herself away from her grip. Clarke’s hand fell uselessly to her side. “I’m fine. I’m not scared.”

“Then what is it? I know you Raven. What’s wrong?”

Raven looked up at her. Clarke could hear her grind her teeth. But in the end, after a long, heavy stare, she watched as her shoulders slacked like they’d been holding up the weight of the world and it had finally grown that tonne too heavy. She sighed. “I… I got a call today.”

When it seemed like Raven wasn’t going to go on Clarke stepped forward, mindful to resist the urge to reach out to her. Raven was sensitive to touch when she was upset. “And what was it?” Clarke prompted softly.

Raven, in an entirely uncharacteristic display, fidgeted the end of her shirt. “You remember that space program right? ALIE? The one I’d been trying to get into for ages?”

“Yeah of course, it’s all you ever talked about when we were kids.”

Raven gave her sheepish grin. “Well… I got an interview with them. On Friday. I have a chance of getting it.”

Clarke’s entire face lit up with the brightness of her grin. “Raven that’s incredible!” she gushed excitedly, and it must have been infectious because Raven’s smile grew too. “God, Rae, this is so good. But… why are you so,” Clarke frowned as she tried to find the word. “…Nervous, then?”

“This is big Clarke. Really big. And I know that I’ve been doing all those big projects you know, jumping onto whatever project offered to build up my CV but… what if I’m not enough?”

Clarke’s jaw actually dropped. She blinked. “Are you kidding?” she breathed. When Raven still looked at her seriously, Clarke scoffed and shook her head. She stepped forward, checking with Raven before she gently clasped her shoulders, making it so they were looking eye to eye. “Raven. Don’t let it get to your head, but you are the smartest, and most brilliantly intelligent person I’ve ever met. You’re incredible Raven, and they will see that. I promise.”

Clarke squeezed tighter, ignoring for her sake Raven’s watery eyes.

“You’re amazing, alright?” she whispered. She suddenly laughed. “And anyway, if they _do_ fuck you over, you can rest assured that you’ve got a werewolf on your side as a revenge plan. Really, you just give me a name and it’s done.”

Raven chuckled nervously and shook her head. “Clarke, come on—“

“No. Look at me.” She waited till she was. “You’ve got this, yeah? And even… even if in the _extremely_ unlikely chance that you don’t, you’re not alone, and you never will be.”

Raven blinked away the wetness in her eyes. Eventually she laughed breathlessly, stepping back, and Clarke let her hands fall away. “You’re a fucking sap, Griffin.” She whispered and Clarke smiled, at ease that her words had seemed to work the slightest at least.

“Yeah, well that’s your ego boost from me for the year. Don’t waste it.”

Raven slugged her in the shoulder and Clarke pretended it hurt.

They started walking again, and the air felt lighter now that they’d talked about it. Raven was quieter now, more focused, and Clarke was grateful. The fallout that would have fallen if she’d had to force Raven home wouldn’t be pleasant. Missing on out that was highly relieving.

She had gotten use to the sounds of the forest, of the tweeting birds and crickets that when there was a sudden absence of it, the silence felt almost painful. They had been walking for about half an hour now, and Clarke slowed her steps, frowning slightly as she took in a deep breath of the air. Her nose twitched and she crouched, a hand coming out and blindly grabbing Raven’s shirt. She pulled her down with her and thankfully Raven went without question and seemed to understand she needed her quiet.

Clarke stood still, lingering behind a tree with her knees still bent. There was someone near. The wind was going in the wrong direction, hiding whoever was there’s scent, but the quiet was answer enough that they weren’t alone. But she could pick up the trail in the air enough that it was a werewolf. It wasn’t enough to be able to tell if she recognised it though. She knew they were near however.

She was slow as she straightened her legs and stood up, still keeping herself hidden behind the tree. She felt Raven rise with her. Clarke glanced back to the side of her, raising a finger to her lips in signal for Raven to stay quiet. At Raven’s affirming nod Clarke faced forwards again and pulled out the hunting knife she’d kept strapped in a pouch at her belt. She strained her hearing and caught a rapid heartbeat that wasn’t her own. It wasn’t Raven’s either. Whoever was there, they were coming right up to them. Clarke adjusted her grip on the hunting knife, inwardly counting to three, before she jumped out.

It happened so fast she couldn’t keep up. One second she was standing with the knife raised and the next she was shoved up against a tree with a blade at her neck, her own knife knocked from hands and thrown to the ground. A growl broke out of her throat, but it faltered when she realised whose face hovered just a few centimetres from her own.

“Lexa?” Clarke breathed, her brow creasing. Lexa blinked at her.

“Clarke?” she whispered, equally confused and surprised. Clarke had to forcibly suppress her shiver because holy _hell_ was she not in any way prepared for the way Lexa’s lips wrapped around her name. So close she got slammed with a wave of her scent and she only just kept her eyes from rolling into the back of her head from the pleasure of it.

Lexa was still only an inch away, and Clarke’s eyes had just dipped downwards when Lexa seemed to suddenly realise she still had her pressed up against the tree with a knife at her throat. She hastily pulled away, and Clarke was simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

“Clarke?” Lexa tried again, frowning at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I—“

Her words were cut off when she heard a growl and a yelp. Clarke’s eyes snapped to the side where a woman with dark skin and muscled figure had grabbed Raven by the scuff of her shirt. A guttural snarl ripped herself out of Clarke’s throat without thinking and she lunged forward. The woman’s head whipped around at the sound, and it was deep and powerful enough that seemingly out of instinct she stilled, fearful hesitation making her pause. It was enough that Clarke could flash over to them and shove the woman back, hard, now standing as a wall between her and Raven.

Despite how hard Clarke pushed her the woman only staggered, but was she still staring at her strangely, her eyes wide. When Clarke snarled again, low enough that it burned her throat the woman actually stepped back.

The woman seemed to finally come back to her senses then, but just as her lip was pulling back and she was clearly preparing to go for her Lexa was suddenly at her side and grabbed her elbow.

“Indra, step away,” Lexa ordered, and though her voice appeared calm there was a definite threat to it. Indra only did so once she tore her fiery gaze off of Clarke and looked to Lexa. “Back down.” She repeated, her voice lower now, and Indra cast one last burning glance to Clarke before she finally listened. She stepped back, her teeth no longer bared.

Clarke still stood protectively in front of Raven. She was so close she was practically pressing Raven into the tree behind them. A low growl was still vibrating from her throat, her lips, unlike Indra’s, remained pulled back in their snarl. It was clearly making everyone on edge. Lexa was stiffed back, though Indra was even worse, despite her obvious effort to keep herself under control.

She felt a hand gently clasp her wrist. Clarke’s eyes didn’t shift off Indra. “Hey, it’s alright, you can relax now Clarke,” Raven whispered from behind her, her voice soft. Clarke still remained tense, her body so tightly strung she was sure she was going to snap. Raven gripped her wrist tighter. “It’s fine. No one’s hurt. You’re fine.”

Clarke released a shaky breath. She focused on Raven’s grip on her. She was right. She was fine. Slowly, her growl started to die off. Lexa and Indra were still staring at her, but the more Clarke found herself relaxing, the more her gaze drifted from Indra to Lexa. Her brunette hair was pulled into intricate eye-catching braids. She could still smell her scent from when she’d been a breath away.

And it was that, more than anything, as she stared into those damn green eyes she’d been thinking near obsessively all night, that Clarke slowly returned to herself.

Her growl finally ceased, her shoulders lowering. Not completely, but enough that the tension in the air wasn’t so suffocating. Her face relaxed too so she was no longer baring her teeth. No matter how much she wanted to.

The silence that followed was heavy. Clarke was still planted in front of Raven, and unsurprisingly it was Raven who broke the weighty quiet.

“Well, now that those lovely greetings are out the way, mind if we get your names?”

Clarke didn’t know if she was grateful or not for Raven’s words, though she watched carefully as Lexa and Indra shared a look. “This is Indra,” Lexa said slowly, peeling her gaze off of her and looking towards Clarke. Their eyes met and Clarke pretended it didn’t make her blood thrum. “I am Lexa.”

“Wait, _you’re_ Lexa?” Raven breathed, and the smile was obvious in her voice. Clarke sucked in a sharp breath. Oh no.

Lexa’s brow furrowed slightly. “…Yes.”

Raven laughed. “Well shit, Clarke you must be blind, because that is not ‘ _reasonably attractive_ ’, that’s a fucking goddess. Fuck man, what kind of water you drinking, _shit_.”

“Raven!” Clarke hissed, but Raven, of course, was grinning widely now and took advantage of her embarrassment to step around and approach Lexa—much to Clarke’s dismay.

“Hello Lexa, I’m Raven. Pleasure to meet your fine self.” She stuck out a hand, and while Lexa raised a brow, with some hesitance she reached for the offered hand and shook it.

“You as well.” She muttered unsurely.

Raven turned to Indra who was still glaring darkly at her. “Indra, right?” she checked, but before she could stick out her hand Clarke growled and Raven snatched her hand back. “Right, Clarke’s still mad. My apologies.”

Lexa glanced between her and Raven before her gaze finally settled on her. “What are you doing here, Clarke?”

“Simple,” Raven chirped, and Clarke’s eyes widened because she _knew_ what Raven was about to say and how it probably was not going to be handled well. “We’re werewolf hunting.”

Both Indra and Lexa’s eyes bulged and Clarke lurched forward, latching onto the back of Raven’s shirt and hauling her backwards so she was behind her again. She wasn’t surprised to see Indra’s face break into a snarl once more and step forward, her lips pulled back.

“You reveal our existence to a _human_?” she fumed. The only thing that seemed to be stopping her from diving at her throat was Lexa, whose presence had suddenly appeared and was now standing between them.

“That’s enough Indra.” Lexa muttered low but it didn’t work this time.

Indra growled again. “Alpha she has—“

“I said enough!”

Indra’s jaw snapped shut. She was breathing hard through her nose. Her and Lexa’s stare was intense, and even from the outsider’s perspective Clarke felt the heat and danger of it. Every fibre of her body was warning her of the fight to come. All her instincts pointed to preparing for an attack, so it was both relieving and surprising when Indra stepped back.

“ _Sha Heda_.” She pushed through gritted teeth. Clarke blinked at the complete one-eighty. For some reason, it seemed completely illogical to her, though maybe it wasn’t that it was strange to _her_. It was strange to her wolf.

But then Lexa turned around so they were eye to eye again, and she suddenly wished she wasn’t the object of her stare. Because even if Lexa was a stranger, should could smell it in the air and see it in her eyes—Lexa was furious too.

“I understand that you do not know the pack laws that govern us,” she started, and Clarke swallowed nervously because Lexa’s voice was dangerously calm again. “But I would have expected you to understand that our species is to remain a secret to humans.”

Clarke stiffened. She let out a slow, controlled breath, glancing between Indra and Lexa. “I know,” she said, her stare settling on Lexa. “But it was out of my control. And the secret’s not out yet, is it? So it’s fine.”

The green of Lexa’s eyes still resembled fire, but it did flicker ever so slightly at her words. “How long has she known?”

Clarke hesitated a beat before answering. “Three years.” She muttered quietly.

“You were bitten three years ago.” Lexa was tilting her head now. It was subtle, but Clarke could see it. It was also intensely endearing and she hated it. “Did you confide in her when you turned?”

Clarke clenched her fists. She had buried the memories of her turning as far as they could go. “Raven found out by accident. It has been three years, and she has said nothing. You can trust her.” Her hands were shaking. “If any of you don’t believe me and attempt to go after her, then I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“You are a pup,” Indra snarled just as Lexa raised her brow. “It is obvious you have no control. You couldn’t take down the runt of the pack, let alone Heda.”

“Raven is my family.” Clarke muttered. “I do not care. If you try to kill her, I will kill you.”

No one said anything at that. Indra’s stare was still a blazing fire, so tightly coiled she looked just a second from tearing her apart. But Clarke kept her gaze steady on Lexa, and she watched as while her face was still in that unreadable blank mask, there was a whole journey of expression in her eyes. She watched the fury waver, the saddened pity drag down, the surprise and curiosity bring an entirely new light to her features. Slowly, when the silence had pressed on so hard she was _sure_ they were going to devolve into a messy and bloody fight, Lexa raised her chin and her eyes only now left Clarke’s.

“Raven,” Lexa called, and Clarke felt Raven still from behind her before—if very slowly and carefully—she moved out from the shield of Clarke’s body. She still stayed within arms reach of Clarke. “You have known of our kind for three years. Why have you not revealed us?”

She glanced to Clarke, who was still intently watching Lexa and waiting for where this was going. “Nothing to gain. Fucktonne to lose. If I told, Clarke would either be hunted, in which she’d be killed, or the government would grab her and do a shit load of experiments. Sure, you’re an ass at times,” Raven shot her a grin and Clarke rolled her eyes. “But… you don’t deserve that. I mean, look what us humans do with our _own_ species. If we all found out werewolves existed? Be a fucking shitshow.”

Lexa stared at Raven for a few more tense moments before she nodded. “I see.” She sighed, but her shoulders eased, and like a domino effect everyone else relaxed too. “I suppose you will not listen if I tell you to leave, that this hunt is not your own?”

Clarke felt her lips twitch. “No, we will not.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes at her. “Very well.” She glanced to Indra, and the two seemed to share an entire wordless conversation that Clarke could only guess to be Indra conceding, if the grinding teeth and stiff nod was anything to go by. “Raven will not be safe. You have little training. You will come with us.”

Clarke blinked. “You want us to hunt… together?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes.” She briefly looked up towards the sky. “We still have a few hours till sundown. We should leave when the sun is gone, it will be too dangerous once it is dark.”

Lexa’s eyes drilled into hers again and Clarke swallowed. “Alright. Lead on then.”

Something in Lexa’s gaze softened, but it happened so quickly Clarke couldn’t tell whether it happened at all. Instead, she watched as Lexa nodded and twisted on her heel, continuing to walk in the direction that her and Raven had been heading in. Indra lagged a moment, throwing one last steely glare to them before following after her.

“Well,” Raven said into the surprised quiet. Neither of them had been expecting Lexa to _offer_ them to join. “That was fun.”

“You’re such an idiot Raven.” Clarke muttered. She shot Raven a reproaching look before she started towards Lexa and Indra. Raven followed close behind her.

Clarke didn’t need to look to the side of her to see Raven’s smirk. “Perhaps. But, you know what we _did_ get out of this lovely confrontation?”

“Apart from nearly dying, what?”

This time she did look to Raven. She wished she hadn’t though, because Raven’s smirk was so wide it stretched nearly ear to ear. “You’ve proved you _are_ my glorified guard dog.” Clarke ground her teeth. “Oh! I know, instead of wolfie I can call you doggie!” Raven laughed at her own genius. “Fuck yeah, that’ll be great.”

“Raven, if you call me ‘doggie’, you will wake up tomorrow wondering why you are missing a throat.”

“All bark, doggie. All bark.” Raven grinned. The glare that Clarke gave her should have killed her right on the spot. “You threaten my life all the time, yet I’m still here.”

“Fuck knows how.” Clarke muttered under her breath, but she thought that Lexa had heard, because though she was a few paces ahead of them she noticed how her back straightened in effort to hide her amusement. Clarke sighed, but then an idea hit her, and a catlike smile spread on her lips as she turned to Raven. “You know, you’re right. How about this, if _you_ call me doggie, then I’ll tell O about what happened when we were sixteen at that theme park.” A dangerous glint lit her eyes. “You know, that thing you did with the—“

“You swore never to bring that up!” Raven cut off in snarled whisper, but Clarke just kept her smug smile.

“Well, you should think twice at calling me doggie then shouldn’t you?”

Raven slotted her eyes at her. She growled and kicked a rogue stone as they walked the grass path. “That’s blackmail.”

“That’s friendship.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you too, Rae.”

Raven’s mouth opened in what Clarke knew was only the beginning of a sniping match, and oddly enough she was saved by Lexa calling her name. Her and Raven both paused, though while Raven was mainly in confusion and surprise, Clarke was a little because she was honestly debating on whether Lexa was saying her name like that on purpose just to mess with her.

“Clarke,” Lexa called, twisting her head back as they walked. “I must speak with you. Alone.”

Clarke glanced to Indra. “You can promise that your wolf here won’t go for Raven if I do?”

Indra narrowed her eyes at her.

Clarke couldn’t tell if Lexa was amused or not. “She will be safe. Indra will protect her.”

A vein was starting to poke out from Indra’s neck, but when Clarke looked to her with a raised brow in question, she actually nodded. Though the movement seemed to pain her immensely. Clarke still didn’t trust Indra one bit, but Lexa’s word seemed something she _could_ trust, so squeezed Raven’s arm in reassurance before she left her side.

Indra dropped back from Lexa’s shoulder as Clarke came up, and they shared intense stares as they switched positions so that Indra was now walking next to Raven and Clarke with Lexa. Clarke was already regretting listening to her because now that she was closer she could smell Lexa again. It made her want to bury her nose in her neck.

Clarke cleared her throat. It still felt painfully dry. “Something you wanted?” she asked, and she was more than thankful that her voice was steady.

“How does Raven know?” Lexa questioned, her voice dropping to a whisper. Those green eyes stared up at her, and when Clarke saw that they weren’t as hard as before, something softer in them, she found herself answering.

“I had a messy turning.”

Lexa furrowed her brows slightly. “Was she there?”

Clarke sunk her hands into her jean pockets. Her nails dug into her thighs as she walked. “She was there the morning after. I didn’t know she was coming. She had been wanting to surprise me.” Clarke chuckled suddenly, but it was empty and sardonic. “Suffice to say, she was the one surprised.”

“What happened?”

Clarke’s eyes had switched to the ground, but now they hesitant flicked up. The memories were still too painful despite that it had been years now. “That’s a very personal question.” She noted quietly.

She watched as Lexa’s throat bobbed. Lexa’s stare felt like she was looking right into her soul, and she was irrationally convinced that Lexa could somehow see her memories of _that_ night anyway. But then Lexa nodded slowly. “Of course.” She eventually replied, equally as soft. “My apologies.”

Clarke bit her lip. “You can trust her, you know. Raven is like a sister to me. She won’t tell anyone of your kind.”

“Our kind.” Lexa corrected, an odd gentleness in her voice.

Clarke burrowed her hands deeper into her pockets. “No,” she said, watching as Lexa frowned at her. “We may be the same species, but we are not the same. You… have this pack, or whatever. This territory and all this knowledge and rules. I heard what Indra called you back there. Alpha. That’s what you are.” Clarke let out a shuddered breath. “And I have nothing. _Had_ nothing. I have never met another werewolf until now. I’ve been alone. Completely and utterly alone.”

Lexa’s mouth opened, though no words seemed to come out.

Clarke shot her smile that she hoped wasn’t as painful as it felt. “We’re not the same. That time is passed.”

She slowly tore her gaze off her, unable to take the emotion beginning to build in Lexa’s eyes, the way it tried to break through that unreadable façade in tragic cracks. Clarke instead watched the scenery around them. She took in a deep breath through her nose, her eyes drawing shut at the comforting wave of smells. She pretended that the most wonderful of them all, out of the dirt, and the trees and the grass, that Lexa’s wasn’t the most enticing out of all of them.

They strode in silence for a while. It was oddly comfortable, considering how Lexa was such a stranger. Clarke didn’t really understand it, and she was starting to believe she never would. That ever-present force that simmered under her skin retreated, her wolf settling in a way she had never felt, and honestly, she didn’t care to find the reason anymore. It wasn’t going to come through logic. Some things never did.

“Do you have any memory of who bit you?” Lexa asked her suddenly.

Clarke was surprised to find the notes of anger in her voice. When she glanced to Lexa, she saw her jaw was clenched. “Why?” she pushed, mainly because she was curious as to where this anger was coming from.

Lexa’s jaw flicked to the side. “It is forbidden to turn humans without their consent and the permission of the alpha. The wolf that turned you broke very sacred laws.”

Clarke watched her for a few moments until she realised that Lexa was angry on her behalf. Was intent on hunting down the wolf that had turned her, if only because it had hurt her, had taken everything. “You’re too late Lexa.” She answered softly. Lexa looked to her confused. Clarke sighed. “It’s already dead.”

“Who killed them?” Lexa pressed once she’d gotten over her surprise.

“I did.”

Lexa blinked at her. “You fought a werewolf as a human… and won?”

“Well, sort of. I cheated.” Lexa looked to her curiously and Clarke smiled. “Used my car.”

Understanding grew upon Lexa’s face, but there was a twitch to her brow that didn’t quite leave. “I see.”

They fell back into silence again, and for some reason Clarke didn’t like it. “What about you?” she questioned instead. Lexa tilted her head.

“About me?”

“Yeah,” Clarke bit off her laugh at Lexa’s genuine confusion. It was adorable. “How did… you come to all this? Being a werewolf and all.”

Lexa’s lips pulled into the closest thing to a smile she had seen from her. It was more a smirk, a half-tug at the lips, but _god_ was it gorgeous and had her chest filling with warmth at the sight of it. “I was born a wolf. My parents were once Alphas of the Trikru.”

“Trikru…” Clarke creased her brow. “Your pack.”

Lexa nodded.

“Are there more? Packs, I mean.”

Lexa looked surprised to have been asked that. Clarke assumed it must be common knowledge. “There are twelve within this country. They are mostly independent, having their Alphas, but they all follow me.”

“Every one?” Clarke breathed, awe seeping into her voice.

Lexa’s lips pulled into that half-smile again. “Every one.” She repeated.

Clarke would have asked more, except suddenly Lexa stiffened and all the amusement drained from her face. Clarke froze too.

“Hey what’s—“ Clarke cut Raven off by raising a hand in wordless signal to stay quiet. It worked, miraculously.

The scent. She knew that scent. The one of smoke and rock. She tilted her chin, breathing in a long take of the air. The scent coiled in her nostrils and made her grimace. She got overwhelmed with that feeling again, the _wrongness_ that just radiated from it. It made her fingers twitch, made her wolf rise from within her, no matter how settled it seemed to fall when with Lexa’s presence.

She started moving. She heard Lexa’s hiss before a firm grabbed her arm. Clarke spun to her, her teeth already bared, but Lexa seemed to ignore it. “You do not know what you are dealing with Clarke,” Lexa whispered, her eyes flicking between her own. “He is a _ripa_. He is stronger and faster and feral. You do not know how to handle—“

Clarke snatched her arm from her grip. “I don’t care what he is. He killed a girl. He needs to die.” Her voice was hard. “He is wrong.”

Lexa frowned slightly at that. “Wrong?” she questioned, and when she tried to reach for her again Clarke stepped back.

Frustration that wasn’t entirely her own rose up. The wolf was near, she could smell it in the air, and their scent was clouding with her head. Every time she got a whiff of it she could her wolf shift anxiously within her. “Yes, wrong, it’s wrong. Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?” Lexa was frowning harder now, something she didn’t understand in her gaze. But Clarke couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to find him. She needed to. There was something wrong with him, something that made her skin feel like there were worms burrowing under it. Her head snapped around to where she knew the scent was coming from, and ignoring Lexa’s shout of warning she took off.

She followed it. Sprinted through the towering forest. Dirt kicked up beneath her feet as she zipped through, shoving her way through the bushes and effortlessly leaping over fallen trees. The further she went the stronger the scent became, pushing her to go faster, accelerating her speed. She strained her hearing as she ran too, and the second she heard a faint cough and a growl she suddenly veered to the left. It was so much stronger here. She blurred past a trunk that was splattered in blood, paying it no mind. He was here. She knew he was.

Clarke stumbled out into a clearing. She was panting, her eyes wild and sharp as they scanned the scene around her. There was a small cave just a few paces ahead, and his scent stank all around it, so intense she was tempted to almost gag. But she couldn’t see _him_ , and her frustration and anger was mounting up within her fast. She knew he was here. There was a fire going in the cave. Streaks of blood wiped against the rock. He must have heard her coming and bolted. That didn’t matter though, because it still meant he was close. Close enough.

She had only just stepped back when she heard a creak from above.

Clarke’s head snapped up right in time to see a dark mass drop from the trees. It would have landed right on her, had it not been for the sudden force that was slamming to her and throwing her into the ground. Clarke snarled and attempted to shove whoever had dived at her off her, but it died in her throat when she saw Lexa hastily pulling herself from her grip and instead leaping for the person who’d jumped from the trees.

Lexa’s body collided with his, and Clarke blinked when she noticed how _old_ the werewolf was. She had been expecting someone fit, as all werewolves seemed to be, but this man was old, his white hair stringy and his skin wrinkled and pale. His clothes were in tatters and riddled with rips. It was jarring to see how swift and fast his attacks were though, but even more was the near effortless way Lexa fended him off. He managed a hard strike at her gut, grabbing her and throwing her with a roar. She smashed into the ground but somehow rolled with it, and when he came at her again he hadn’t expected her quick recovery, and it was already too late.

She lunged at him, blocking his hit and grasping his wrist before she twisted in one hard motion, a _snap_ reverberating around the clearing. He dropped to his knees with a howl and Lexa’s hand jerked to his neck and pulled him up till his feet were dangling in the air. She walked him as he struggled within her grip and slammed his back into a tree. His feet hit the ground, but her other hand wrapped around his head and she knocked his head repeatedly into the trunk until he finally dropped unconscious.

Clarke had watched the whole thing with wide eyes. Lexa, who still stood over his unmoving body, slowly turned her head to meet her gaze. Clarke shivered when their stare met because Lexa’s eyes were dark and predatory now. She looked like she could tear the devil’s throat out with her teeth without blinking.

They were still staring at each other when Indra and Raven suddenly crashed into the clearing. Only then did they finally break their shared gaze, Lexa looking to Indra, while Clarke’s gaze—after briefly flicking over Raven to make sure she was okay—drifted to the _ripa’s_ as Lexa had called it.

And all she could hear was her wolf’s voice in her head.

_Wrong._

Clarke scrambled up to her feet, realising she was still lying on the ground from when Lexa had saved her. Her knees felt shaky as she approached the werewolf’s body. She could hear Lexa and Indra talking in harsh whispers behind her. She slowed as she reached the still body. She crouched in front it.

He was still breathing. But there was blood dripping at the back of his head from where Lexa had smashed it into the tree. Yet that was not the only place he was bleeding. There was blood everywhere. Smeared on his mouth, his hands—the freckled pale skin was doused in red. Gingerly, she reached out a finger, carefully swiping some of the blood onto it. She brought it to her nose and sniffed.

“Human,” Clarke murmured out loud. The blood wasn’t his. It hit her suddenly, what it probably was.

The girl’s.

His eyes twitched, and before Clarke could react his eyelids suddenly snapped open. For a second they did nothing but stare at each other. Or more, Clarke stared with dread and awe, as she noticed one of the first signs that something was wrong with him.

His dark blue eyes were completely bloodshot, the white practically red with how many veins were spreading within them. They were glazed over too, his gaze almost unseeing, wide and feral. For a beat there was nothing but silence and their stare, but then some invisible switch was flicked and his face broke into a rabid snarl. He lunged for her but didn’t even get up to his feet before a hand was at his neck again and pinning him into the tree behind him.

Clarke hadn’t noticed that Lexa had been watching her the entire time.

She burst to her feet, feeling like she couldn’t breathe as Lexa’s hand kept him trapped with its iron grip around his throat. He was still snarling, thrashing wildly and uselessly, nothing like a man and everything like an animal.

“Kill him Heda,” Indra urged, like Clarke staying back. Out of habit Clarke’s eyes flicked off the scene unfolding before her and went in search of Raven. She saw her friend standing a lot further back than the rest of them, and she was grateful. Raven briefly met her gaze and offered a reassuring smile.

“He may talk.” Lexa breathed, her muscles straining as she held him down. Clarke brought her attention back. Her leg twitched with the urge to walk over and look to him again. A part of her didn’t want to; was far fine with staying back and letting Lexa handle the crazed man, but the bigger part made her heart thunder against her ribs. She needed to know why he was wrong, why he just _felt_ so wrong.

Indra clenched her jaw. “He is a reaper Heda. Look at him, he is too far gone.”

Lexa let out a strained breath. She squeezed his throat tighter. “He is Cage’s father. He may know why he is here. He will have information.” The man almost managed to kick her but Lexa used her other hand to drive her fist into his stomach. “Answer me Dante. What happened? Why were you turned? Where is Cage?”

The man, Dante, snarled at her. Clarke watched as Lexa’s shoulders both tensed up and slacked.

“Is any of you still there?” she asked, and even Clarke could hear the defeat in her voice. Whoever he was, he was someone that Lexa wanted for some reason. But still his eyes were wild and feral as he bucked and writhed. She was starting to believe he couldn’t even understand them at this point.

Indra stepped forward. “He is lost, Alpha.” She stated grimly. Lexa seemed to release a shaky breath, and Clarke understood what it was. Acceptance. Defeat.

Lexa’s free hand drifted to her side, pulling out the dagger that had been held to Clarke’s throat from before, and suddenly Clarke was bursting forward. She touched Lexa’s arm, ignoring Indra’s warning growl, urging Lexa to look at her.

Lexa did. Her jaw was still clenched with the effort it was taking to keep Dante pinned. “I’m sorry, Clarke. He must die. He is a reaper, he is on nothing but borrowed time.”

Clarke was about to say something, hoping to somehow convince her to let her talk to him, when suddenly Lexa was hissing as Dante’s teeth sunk into her hand. It shocked her enough that she let go, but just as he was growling and lunging forward Clarke was too. She snatched Lexa’s knife out of her hand and brought it to Dante’s neck, shoving him back into the tree.

So close, the scent of dried blood made her want to recoil. That wrongness seemed so much more intense when she was just inches away, and Clarke couldn’t take it anymore, wrestling back her wolf that had been desperate to push itself out the second she’d entered this clearing. Dante struggled against her, not even seeming to care that the blade was digging into his throat when he leaned forward—and yet, all of sudden he froze.

Clarke’s eyes glowed yellow as she stared at him.

Dante blinked, and Clark released a shaky breath, knowing she had to be careful. Somehow keep the balance so that she wouldn’t turn right there. “Who are you?” she muttered, and his eyes cleared the longer he stared into her own. His struggled efforts dimmed until he was completely still under her grip.

His jaw opened and closed multiple times before he seemed to manage the ability to work it. “R-Run,” he stammered, and Clarke frowned.

“What do you mean?”

But his eyes were growing wider now, frantic and scared. “Run,” he gasped out. “Need to, need to _run_ —“

“Who needs to run?” Clarke pushed. He seemed to be growing more terrified by the second. His entire body was shaking now, and he was starting to move again. He whined, shaking his head.

Still, when he raised his gaze, his eyes were steady on hers as he whispered, “you.”

“Who did this?” Clarke asked. But it was too late now. He started to struggle again, his head thrashing back and forth as he murmured the words over and over, growing in volume until he was screaming at the top of his lungs.

 _Run_.

Clarke grit her teeth. She knew it was over.

The yellow burned brighter in her eyes, and she sucked in a sharp breath before she raised Lexa’s dagger and drove it through his throat. Blood immediately began to pour from his mouth, but when he stared at her with those wide eyes, he merely whispered a breathless, “thank you,” and Clarke blinked back the wetness in her eyes as she ripped the blade out. He dropped to the ground.

Clarke stood over his body, her hand shaking. Her eyes were still yellow, and she was forcefully trying to calm herself down. She could hear her pounding heartbeat in her ears. The smell of blood wasn’t helping, even if its scent was still disturbingly wrong. She closed her eyes and forced a deep breath through her mouth.

She was still trembling, but when her eyes opened they were blue.

Clarke turned around slowly. They were staring at her with wide eyes, and though Raven looked concerned, Indra seemed fearful, and Lexa—Lexa she couldn’t read. She approached them calmly, no one speaking as she walked up to Lexa and handed her the bloodied dagger.

“Sorry,” she muttered, and without another glance she slipped past them and headed back for the trees.

Blood still coated her fingers.

She couldn’t feel it.              

-

Lexa stood numbly for a few moments.

She stared at Dante’s dead body, her gaze eventually shifting to meet Indra’s. She looked equally as shocked and confused as her. Her knife was still clenched tightly within her hands. Dante’s blood still dripping down onto the grass. Lexa didn’t understand what had just happened, and that was what was irritating her the most.

Because what the fuck had just happened?

“Indra, the body will need to be taken care of.” Lexa murmured. She was still staring at him. She couldn’t stop thinking of the desperation to his words once he had somehow come back to himself, enough to speak at least. The way he’d just screamed _run_ over and over. She swallowed. “Call the pack if you need to.”

When she didn’t get an immediate response she glanced up to her, but she noticed Indra’s gaze wasn’t on her, it was on Raven. When Lexa followed her line of sight realised why. Because in the short time that she had met Raven, she had noticed her demeanour of constant bravado and snark. Even when her life was hanging in the balance, the only thing keeping her breathing being Clarke’s snarl, she had never outright shown fear.

And yet now as she stared on from where had Clarke had gone to, she could see she was legitimately scared.

“ _Sha Heda_.” Indra finally said, shifting her gaze to her and nodding before slipping past her. Lexa cleaned the blade with the side of her shirt, knowing she could wear her jacket that was back with the car that her and Indra had driven near the outskirts of the forest, so she wasn’t worried of how suspicious the streak of red would look. She sheathed the dagger and approached Raven.

“Was that normal of her?” Lexa asked, and Raven jolted as if she’d forgotten she was there.

Raven’s throat bobbed. “Nothing about Clarke is normal.” She eventually spoke, and Lexa found herself grinding her teeth. This wasn’t the time.

“She just killed a person. She…” somehow got through to a reaper which should be impossible to do. Lexa huffed. She wasn’t going to get answers out of the human. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time to make her decision. “Raven, stay with Indra. Do not leave her line of sight. While Dante was the one behind the killings, we don’t know if he is in this alone or not.”

Raven blinked at her. “You’re saying there could be _more_ rogue werewolves?”

Lexa sighed. “Maybe. Maybe not. It is safer not to risk it. Stay near Indra.”

The second Raven’s head was bobbing Lexa was spinning around and walking where she’d seen Clarke go.

She sniffed the air until she found her scent, picking up her pace as she followed the invisible trail. It didn’t look like she’d run thankfully, so she shouldn’t be too far out. Lexa went faster anyway. There was dread in her gut, a ball of fear and worry and confusion.

Dante Wallace was Cage’s father. He wasn’t a good man, but he’d had more of a soul than his demon of a son. Cage was also meant to be quite close with his father. Dante was Alpha of the Mountain Men, although considering what she’d just seen, perhaps that wasn’t true anymore. His son had turned on him, made him into a reaper. Dante had turned a blind eye towards some sick things, playing it off as the greater good, but he had been semi-sane, in some ways. He had kept the threat of the Mountain back so war wasn’t so imminent.

But if Dante was truly betrayed and now Cage was the Alpha, it could mean hell.

It was infuriating to have the answer to so many questions so close but so far. Dante had been _right there_ , the father of all this chaos, but at the same time he hadn’t. His mind was too crazed and feral. No coherency could be dragged out of it; no much-needed _answers_ could be gained out of that. And then there was the whole other issue.

Clarke had managed to get through to him.

Lexa continued following the scent trail. It was growing stronger by the second, and it was bittersweet the allure of it. She hadn’t been this affected by someone’s scent in a long time. A very long time actually. When there had been someone else, when she’d _had_ someone else, when she wasn’t so explicitly alone.

She could sense that her thoughts were quickly spiraling, so she was relieved when she finally spotted the head of blonde up ahead. They were still entrusted deep within the forest, Clarke seeming to be doing nothing but lean her back against a particularly tall tree trunk, staring up into the glittering canopies. The sun was going to set soon. The sky was beginning to bleed in gorgeous hues that shined perfectly through the trees.

Clarke’s hair seemed to glow in the dying sunlight.

Lexa swallowed and it felt like gulping sand.

She slowed as she approached her. Though Clarke had yet to acknowledge her presence, she knew that Clarke had noticed her, as the moment she’d come in Lexa’s line of sight she’d seen Clarke’s nose twitch. Her head had tilted ever so slightly in her direction, but then she’d sighed and focused back up into canopies.

Lexa stopped when she was next to her. Clarke had yet to look at her, so instead she opted to stare up into the view as well. There was a tree that sat right next to Clarke’s one, so Lexa drifted over to it and let her back fall into the wood. When she glanced up she was surprised at how genuinely beautiful the sight was. No wonder Clarke had been watching it so intently.

They were silent for a long while. Lexa was quite content with it, always looking to take advantage of when she had quiet. With leading a pack there was always a constant source of sound. Either in fights or conversations or scuffles, there was always _something_ happening, something that needed her attention or authority. So whenever she got chances of silence, she took full advantage and treasured them dearly.

Clarke was the one to speak first. “I didn’t break some sacred werewolf custom by stealing your kill did I?” she asked, and Lexa couldn’t help but smile slightly. They still hadn’t looked to each other yet.

“You did not. Though it can be considered a bit rude.”

She could practically hear Clarke’s smile. “Was that a joke?”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

Lexa did look to her this time, watching as Clarke shrugged. “Figured you couldn’t make them. You’re very…” her eyes finally shifted off from above, dropping to meet hers. She waved a hand. “Stoic. Intense.”

The sun was starting to disappear now, streaks of red cutting through the skies. The shadows were long against the ground and they lit Clarke up perfectly. The sight made Lexa’s heart beat a little faster in her chest.

“I am Heda, I cannot show weakness.” She muttered, and to her surprise Clarke merely hummed, staring at her with an odd intensity. It was making her uncomfortable, not that she’d dare show it.

“I suppose.” Clarke eventually answered.

Lexa knew she should let the moment stay light—that she shouldn’t bring up what she had to bring up. It was an inner battle, yet in the end she went for a compromise, letting the moment stretch for longer than she should have let it go on for. Her eyes traced Clarke’s features that were oddly soft now. She looked otherworldly bathed in the fading sun, but more than that she looked at home, peaceful.

Lexa flexed her fingers. “You have killed before.” She noted, her voice soft. It was dangerously easy to keep her voice gentle. Not probing, not demanding like she was so used to.

Those features began to harden. Clarke looked away. She was silent for long enough Lexa was about to speak again, when Clarke finally spoke. “Yes.” She whispered. The word seemed to pain her. Her brows suddenly scrunched. “But not… it was different.”

“How so?”

Clarke shifted uncomfortable, and Lexa had to fight the urge to push herself off the tree and to go over to her. Instead she fisted her hands and kept herself still. “My wolf is the one who killed. Back there… I didn’t have intention of killing him. But it did.” She laughed then, but it was cold and made Lexa’s stomach twist in painful knots. “You’d think after all this time I’d learn some fucking control.”

“I’m sorry, Clarke.” Lexa said softly. Clarke turned to her with a frown.

“Why?” she asked, seeming at a genuine loss.

Lexa just resisted the urge to shrug. “You didn’t choose this. You were bitten when you should have never been bitten. You are right, I think.” She couldn’t take it anymore and pushed herself off the tree. Clarke straightened. “Not entirely, but in ways you are. We are not the same in what has happened. You were thrust into this world without warning; I was born into it. And… yes, you have been alone for these past years.” Lexa swallowed nervously. “But you are not alone now.”

Clarke was watching her carefully. “What are you saying?” she said slowly. Lexa felt herself smile slightly at the suspiciousness in her voice.

“You say you have never met another werewolf until now. Even if you are a mutt, we take care of our own. If you’d wish for it I’m willing to help you. I’ve no doubt you have questions; I can answer them. You can learn of what it means to be a wolf. The rules that govern us, our history.” She took a careful step forward and was marveled when Clarke didn’t tense. “You have been wronged. If you are willing, I wish to make it right.”

Clarke moved forward too, pushing off the tree. “You’d do that?” she asked, and even if it was obvious she was trying to appear distrustful and aloof, there was excitement that burned like stars in her eyes. “For nothing of your own gain?”

Now at that Lexa did hesitate. “Well, not completely.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed.

Lexa sighed. “You still walk my territory. Since you’ve made clear that you won’t be leaving—“

“Which I won’t.”

“—As you wont,” Lexa agreed, ignoring the interruption. “Then there is something you need to do if you wish to stay. You are packless, meaning I cannot go to your Alpha. So, it would need to come from you.”

“What would?” Clarke muttered warily.

Lexa’s lip twitched but she suppressed the desire. “If you formally acknowledge that this land isn’t your own and that you are remaining on my permission, then you may stay.”

“’Formally acknowledge?’ You gonna write up a contract I’d sign?” Though her tone was mostly joking, it was also a little serious.

Lexa shot her an unimpressed look. It seemed to make Clarke smile. “No. We are wolves, not men. Paper contracts cannot be trusted.” Her shoulders slacked as she sighed. “There is a… ritual, a custom. It is a symbol of trust, and if you consent to it and complete it, then I can trust you will not make these lands your own.”

“…This isn’t some weird sex thing is it?”

Lexa glared at her. “No.”

Clarke raised her hands. “Hey, don’t get mad for asking, I’m new to all this.”

Lexa took another step forward. She had noticed when she’d first met Clarke of her wildness, and how it was safer to take it gradual then all at once. Clarke actually did tense up this time, but she made no indication that Lexa should step back, so she took that as progress. “Okay. Are you willing to acknowledge then?”

“Just, to clarify, this seriously isn’t some weird werewolf sell-your-soul-to-the-devil contract thing right?”

Lexa huffed. “It isn’t.”

“Right, right. And—word by word—what am I agreeing to?”

“You are agreeing that this land isn’t yours. You would be staying here because I am trusting that you will not make it your own. Also, if in any event of conflict, you will side with me as if you are one of my pack. This does not _make_ you one of my pack though,” Lexa added, as Clarke had stiffened. “It is merely in the event of a fight, you will not side with the enemy.”

Lexa could practically see the gears turning in Clarke’s head as she thought over the deal. In all honesty Lexa was sincerely hoping Clarke took it, because if she didn’t she’d be made to forcibly remove her. Which would most likely devolve into a fight only one would survive. And Lexa really didn’t want to kill her.

The relief she felt when Clarke eventually nodded was dizzying.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” Lexa tried to tame her smile and failed. Clarke sighed, gesturing helplessly towards her. “So, what do I have to do? Write my name in blood? Offer my first born or something?”

“Clarke.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. Serious shit, I know. But, really, what do I have to do?”

Lexa knew this could go two ways once she told. Either Clarke would downright refuse—and the previous issue of the fight would rise—or Clarke would agree, and they would be making a pact so deep rooted it would be inescapable to avoid her. Whether that was a good or bad thing she was still unsure.

Alphas rarely let mutts stay on their territory. There was always too much distrust that the mutt would attempt to take it for themselves, and Lexa couldn’t even name the last time an Alpha had willingly let a mutt stay on their lands. It hadn’t happened during her entire lifetime.

Of course, Clarke had no idea the proportions of the deal she was offering, and Lexa wasn’t feeling inclined to divulge it. She needed Clarke to make this decision for herself and no one else. It had to be on her instinct, not on the pressure of outside forces.

“Traditionally, we both turn, and you submit to me.” When Clarke stiffened Lexa quickly added, “once more, this would not initiate you into my pack. I would not become your Alpha. It is symbolic more than anything.”

“I won’t turn.”

Lexa paused. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not turning.” Clarke repeated, her voice harder than Lexa had ever heard. Her eyes were burning now, as if daring her to push it.

Lexa drew herself up. “If you are refusing to acknowledge then—“

“No I’m not—“ Clarke bit her lip, huffing with frustration. She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m still willing to… acknowledge, or whatever. But I refuse to turn.”

Lexa relaxed slightly. It was unusual, but not unheard of. Clearly Clarke’s experience as a werewolf had not been pleasant. “Okay,” she eventually said, her voice soft, and Clarke’s shoulders went lax too. “It is… rare, but it can be done in human form. Though…”

Clarke raised a brow at Lexa’s hesitance.

She shouldn’t be nervous about this. She wasn’t a pup. “It is considered more personal.” Lexa quietly pushed out.

Clarke looked like she was trying to bite back her smile. “Look, I know you said it wasn’t before but this is _really_ starting to feel like a sex thing—“

“This is sacred Clarke.” Lexa cut off, a little frustrated that Clarke was still making a joke out of this. She seemed to realise at least, because her eyes softened and she dipped her head.

“You’re right, sorry.” There was a heavy beat of awkward silence until Clarke spoke up again. “So… does it change anything if it’s done when human?”

Lexa was grateful to be back on topic. “Not exactly. You are still agreeing to what I stated before but… it is considered more personal, so if you were to break the promise, I would take it more personally and the consequences would be more severe.”

Clarke tilted her head slightly. “But that also means you’ll trust me more right?”

“…Yes.”

Clarke hummed. “Alright. You still haven’t told me what I have to do.”

Lexa nodded, glad that she was still willing to go through with it. “You will offer your neck.” She answered and she wasn’t surprised when seemingly out of instinct Clarke was instantly stepping back.

“What? No. I can’t.”

Lexa smirked. “That is your wolf talking. As a species we tend to despise weakness, we hide it and rarely expose ourselves. It is why this matters. By showing your throat, you place trust that I will not take advantage and kill you. In return, I place trust you will not make these lands your own.” She explained, and though Clarke was still staring at her with heavy amount of unease, she looked the slightest bit calmer.

“Okay.” Clarke said after a long silence. Lexa raised her brow. “I’ll do it.”

Lexa figured she should warn Clarke of what was to come. “I will have to approach you once you do. You must stay calm and let me, if you attempt to stop me then I will take that as your refusal.”

Clarke grit her teeth, but she nodded.

Lexa pulled in a shaky breath in an attempt to calm her suddenly racing heart. Slowly, she approached Clarke, keeping her steps deliberate and careful, giving Clarke the time and choice of whether she’d pull away. Her body became tighter and tighter the closer Lexa got, and by the time Lexa was finally in front of her, so close their noses were almost touching, Clarke was practically vibrating with restraint. It worried Lexa a little. If Clarke did accept her help, then she would have a lot to learn.

Lexa didn’t ask, as there was no need to. She simply stood there and stared at her, waiting to see if she would submit. She could hear Clarke’s thundering heartbeat. It didn’t help that she was bombarded with her scent again. It took a few tense moments where they did nothing but stare at each other in a battle wills, until, finally, Clarke conceded and slowly tilted her head so her throat was exposed.

It was instinct more than anything, the ritual having been around since the dawn of wolves, so it was without thinking that Lexa leaned forward towards her throat. She heard Clarke’s heart stutter. But she didn’t stop her. Lexa hesitated for only a second until she gently pressed her teeth into Clarke’s throat. Normally it was meant to be done with a show of strength, a threat of how close to death the other stood. You were meant to bite down hard enough to bruise but not enough to bleed.

But Lexa’s teeth were gentle and feather light as she bit down just the slightest. Clarke released a shuddered breath. It was now that Lexa realised that this had been an immensely terrible idea, because all she could see and smell was _Clarke_ and it was making it incredibly difficult to think. It made her linger when she shouldn’t have, lightly scraping her teeth over the soft skin.

And then she was pulling away, still in that slow, careful pace. When she pulled back enough so she wasn’t leaning anymore, she locked gazes with Clarke, and that was a _catastrophically_ bad idea because Clarke’s pupils were dilated now and the smell of the air had changed drastically.

Lexa didn’t know what was louder. Clarke’s heartbeat or her own. She knew, logically, that she should be stepping away now. They had done the ritual. Clarke had let her go through with it. This was supposed to be time of her stepping back and walking away. But Lexa’s feet seemed to be cemented into the ground, her eyes dropping without her permission to the lips that were so tauntingly close to her own.

It was right as she heard Clarke’s breath hitch, watched as she licked her lips that Lexa was honestly just about to lose all self-control when she heard her name being called.

They leapt apart so suddenly and quickly that Lexa nearly tripped on her feet. Clarke’s back actually hit the tree from behind her. Lexa’s breathing was coming heavy, but the distance didn’t help fully, as she could still smell nothing but Clarke’s painfully addicting scent.

Her whipped to the side of her though, where she could hear Indra trudging towards them. Only a few moments later she was appearing, wandering into the clearing before freezing, glancing between the two with narrowed eyes. Lexa felt her cheeks burn and she hated it.

“…We must leave Heda.” Indra eventually spoke, and Lexa swallowed the lump in her throat before nodding stiffly.

“Of course. _Won tika._ ”

Indra paused, glancing once more to Clarke, who was determinedly not meeting her gaze. Finally, to Lexa what felt like a century, she nodded. “ _Sha_. _Na hos op._ ”

Once Indra was gone Lexa timidly looked towards Clarke. She at least met her eyes.

“Thank you. You can… You may stay now.”

Clarke seemed unable to do anything but nod. Lexa felt similar, but one of them had to speak.

She pulled in a shaky breath. “We will meet again. I suggest if you have any questions to prepare them. I must leave now but, I will see you soon.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Clarke’s voice shook and Lexa felt a pang in her heart.

She found herself run out of words. Instead she just nodded, clenching her fists before she pulled herself away and forced herself to keep walking, following in the direction Indra had gone. She knew it had been necessary to do the ritual. It would make her look weak to let Clarke stay without any contingency plan. But that didn’t change the fact that she had bitten her with a gentleness she shouldn’t have used, and her eyes had lingered in places they shouldn’t have drifted.

And really, Lexa knew she was completely and utterly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lexa: the gayest werewolf to ever gay. i love her.  
> hey so i hoped you liked that. its only me that goes over this so if typos are something that make you wanna smash your head in kindly point them out and ill fix them for you. hoped you liked the chapter. some parts i hated but im hoping yous at least enjoyed. thank you for reading. wishing you all a good one.
> 
> (also on a completely unrelated note i started watching teen wolf and while it is goddamn hilarious their fucking 'werewolves' makes me want to hit someone. fucking facial hair and fangs do not count he's a fucking glorified vampire. fuckin hairy bastard. lowkey i wrote a lot of this chap out of spite bc of the show. *continues to grumble angrily, shaking cane at kids on lawn*) 
> 
> translations for the whole two lines of dialogue:  
> Won tika. - One moment.  
> Sha. Na hos op. - Okay. Be quick.


	4. As Those Above Tend To Be Silent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this ones a little filler, but still your regular dose of werewolves and gay. the best combination really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i fucking hate australia. i was writing on the couch and i hear a soft thud so i look to the side of me and see a fucking spider crawling his bitch ass towards me. the goddamn adrenaline rush. is this relevant at all? no but i'm fucking bitter and i'm dragging you all down with me.  
> Oh and uh… hey! new chapter weee!!  
> (as per usual, for that Full Immersion listen to: The Next World by Opus Orange) (and for any wondering, i didn’t kill the spider even if i wanted. put the fucker outside, not that he deserved it. fuckin cheeky cunt.)

There was a loud smack, followed by a pained groan.

Octavia laughed from where she stood over her brother, his hand twisted and trapped in an arm lock, his back flat on the ground from where she’d throw him over. He glared up at her once his eyes reluctantly peaked open.

“What’s the score now Bell? Five to one?” Octavia teased, and she laughed again as Bellamy growled and she released him. He huffed before rolling onto his feet and standing up. He stretched his arm, rubbing his wrist.

“I’m just tired. You know it’s still _way_ too early for this right?” He scowled at her, her grin widening as she strode off the mats, grabbing her water bottle on the nearby bench.

She took in a big gulp before throwing it to her brother. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s only six.” She rolled her eyes. “And you’re a soldier anyway, shouldn’t you be used to early hours?”

“Yeah, and I’ve _just_ got back. I haven’t slept yet O. This is the complete opposite of a fair fight.” He took in an equally massive mouthful of water as he shot another glare at her. “You just wait. Tomorrow, I’ll hand your ass to you.”

Octavia smirked. “You always say that, and yet.”

He grit his teeth before throwing the bottle at her. Octavia only just caught it the second it was about to slam into her face, though her grin was wide when she saw her brother briefly towel the sweat away from his brow before he stalked back over to the mats. He rolled his shoulders, and though there were deep bags under his eyes and it was clear he was beyond exhausted, there was a new fire that burned in the dark brown of his iris.

Octavia slowly lowered the bottle. She joined him on the mats, and for a moment they did nothing but circle each other, slow, precise steps, gazes sharp as they stared each other down. “Ready to land on your ass again?” Octavia taunted, but Bellamy just smiled sharply at her.

“Bring it then.”

Octavia grinned just as she lunged forward.

She always loved to spar with Bellamy. Despite his severe overprotective tendencies, he didn’t hold back when they fought. She knew of course it was _because_ he was being protective, testing her for weak points and for anything that he could teach her, so that he could rest easy knowing she could defend herself.

It had taken a while to convince Bellamy to let her learn how to fight. She had been fourteen when the idea first wormed its way into head, and everyday since she persisted; she _begged_ and she _pleaded_ , throwing fits at every time Bellamy’s answer was the same vehement _no_. But Octavia had never been one to let her brother get in the way of something, so on the night that he knew he was out working his part-time job—him nineteen and her fifteen—she had snuck out through the window in their shared bedroom and crept off to her friends that she had previously promised Bellamy she had stopped hanging out with.

Octavia ducked Bellamy’s fist, her arm shooting out and hitting him in the chest. She attempted to follow the strike up but Bellamy was lurching back and blocking her hit, rough hands snapping onto her wrist in an attempt to pull. But Octavia flicked her wrist and wrenched her hand back. They jumped away from each other, chests heaving as they both silently decided to step back a few moments, resuming their slow circle of each other.

At the start she’d learnt through the help of a scruffy yet handsome boy named Atom. He was the definition of the ‘bad boys’ Bellamy tried his absolute best to wrench her away from, but there was something softer in him that Octavia had seen, as while his smirk was wide and his dark hair fluttered in the breeze with his hard laughs—his hands were soft and gentle when he’d show how to hold her fist into a punch. His voice calming and patient as he went through what he knew.

It wasn’t much. They were still both kids. But the gossip around Atom’s family was well known. After three weeks of her secret hang outs with him, he had quietly confided in her about how it didn’t understand why it hurt that his dad had been taken away. He told her how he didn’t love him, because he didn’t love him back, and his voice would always shake with anger and pure fury as he muttered about the bruises he’d find on his mother on particularly bad nights.

Atom said he learned how to fight for survival.

And when Octavia told him she didn’t ever want to feel helpless, that she was _tired_ of living under Bellamy’s constant shadow, Atom had looked to her with understanding and smiled.

“Come on Bell, I know you can do better than that,” Octavia laughed when he came at her at a bull rush. It abruptly died off when she didn’t manage to move away in time and he collided into her, heavy arms smacking into her waist and slamming her into the ground. Instantly he was making a move to straddle but Octavia was already bursting upwards and head butting him with all her strength. Bellamy cursed and rolled off her.

“Damnit O!” he snarled. He swayed up to his feet, blood leaking in thin streaks down his nose.

“Calling it quits?” she grinned and Bellamy growled low before coming at her again.

She had managed an entire month of Atom without Bellamy knowing. The jig couldn’t last forever of course. Eventually he ended up coming earlier than expected and she was halfway through climbing into the window. It hadn’t gone well. When Bellamy had found out she was learning to fight—and from a _boy_ —he had been furious with her. It didn’t help that Octavia’s lips had still tingled from her first kiss that she’d just shared with Atom.

But the next day, when she was still avoiding him in fear of setting him off, he had eventually cornered her with resignation in his eyes. “You’re really not going to stop are you?” he had asked, and Octavia had smirked, no matter how fast her heart pounded in her chest.

“Obviously.”

Bellamy had pursed his lips before his shoulders fell. “There’s a dojo in town.”

They had to spend months saving up. Octavia went around doing chores and anything she could to scrounge a couple bucks. Bellamy worked full-time. But when they’d finally gotten enough, Octavia had felt a joy like she never had before, and it was that broad smile she’d grown when he told her first class was on Thursday that she thought convinced Bellamy more than anything. At the end of the day—no matter how stubborn and idiotic Bellamy tended to be—he wanted her happy. And when he saw it made her happy, it didn’t matter if it worried him immensely of the pain she was setting herself up for.

If she was happy, then he would learn to accept.

Octavia legs snapped out like lightening and slammed his ribs. Though Bellamy grunted she wasn’t quick enough to pull her leg back, and his hands shot out and snared her ankle. He twisted and pulled and she was suddenly staggering forward. Bellamy didn’t lose the opportunity and came at her hard and fast, and despite his clear exhaustion from getting barely any sleep, his attacks were swift and harsh. She would never admit it to his face, but if they _had_ sparred after he’d rested, the playing field would definitely be a lot more even—and she would probably indeed get her ass handed to her.

She took the hits, her blood blazing but resolve never wavering. She waited for her chance, for the moment he would tire from the quick succession of strikes, and the second she saw it she was lunging forward and crashing her way into his guard. He only had time for his eyes to widen before she kneed him in the gut, and as he doubled over her arm snapped around his neck and she squeezed him hard in a choke hold.

He tried to break out, but eventually she felt his hand tapping her leg and she let him go.

Bellamy dropped to the ground, heaving much needed air into his lungs. He coughed as his eyes flicked up to her, and even if his voice was rough and strained, there was pride that brightened his features. “Nice job,” he wheezed, and Octavia felt her wild grin soften into a gentle smile.

“You too.”

“Your footing needs work.”

Octavia jumped from the unknown voice. She hastily spun around, and she found the owner of the voice to be a particularly burly woman. She had a half-moon tattoo that cupped her right eye, the dark blue just standing out from the brown skin. Her face was hard, a complete stoic mask that had Octavia swallowing and subconsciously backing up, as there was something strange about her that just made her seem so… _predatory._

The woman didn’t seem to take offence at Octavia’s stunned silence. Instead she actually came closer. She walked onto the mats, and Octavia felt her brother hastily pull himself to his feet, no doubt puffing his chest and falling into a protective stance.

Octavia clenched her fists. “And what would you know?” she challenged.

“You have some skill.” The woman conceded, stepping closer. Bellamy made a move to plant himself between them but Octavia’s arm shot out and hit his chest, keeping him back. It seemed to be the right thing to do, because the woman tilted her chin in satisfaction. “I am Indra.” She introduced.

“Octavia.” She answered back, albeit slightly wary.

“Who are you?” Bellamy questioned from behind her. It didn’t escape Octavia’s notice that he didn’t introduce himself.

Indra must have noticed too, because her gaze hardened. It was honestly a little terrifying. Her drilling stare switched from her to Bellamy. “I am new to this town.” She started. “I decided to explore. This gym caught my attention.”

Octavia spoke before Bellamy could. “What do you mean my footing needs work? Do you know how to fight?”

Indra brought her gaze back to her. Her lips had been a straight unreadable line throughout this entire encounter, but now the edges quirked up into a smirk. “More than you know. Would you be willing to spar?”

Octavia felt excitement spark her veins before Bellamy’s hand snatched her arm and wrenched her back. Instantly she was scowling and ripping his grip off, but his hand just came out again.

“Octavia, don’t you dare. We don’t know this woman.”

“So?” Octavia waved her hand. “I’m fed up of fighting you over and over. And she seems…” she pursed her lips. Eventually she just sighed. “Look, I’ll be fine. I want to do this.”

Bellamy’s eyes blew wide. “Octavia no, Octavia—O, _no_ come back here—“

It was too late though; Octavia was already walking away from him. She stood in front of Indra, and though the woman cut a disturbingly imposing figure, she kept her head high and back straight. “Alright. You’re on.”

Indra nodded. “Very well.” She stepped back and quickly drew off her jacket. Octavia stilled when she saw the defined muscle packed into Indra’s arms as she revealed the dark shirt underneath. “You are ready?” she called, snapping Octavia back to the present.

Bellamy was still trying to grab her arm, so with a growl she slapped his hands away and shoved him back. He gaped at her, but with a frustrated huff and a withering glare he ground his teeth, but stayed back. Octavia faced Indra again. She flexed her fingers, bent her knees.

“Ready.” She let her grin unfurl, the one she always grew before a fight. She had fallen in love with the adrenaline of fighting from the moment she’d caught a taste of it. It was an addiction she had only fed as she grew. She thought Indra might be of the same mind though, because there was something that relaxed ever so slightly that complete stony mask.

Octavia gave it a beat before she jumped forward.

Indra twisted away in speeds she was sure couldn’t be physically possible. Octavia stumbled when instead of the wall of muscle she’d been expecting to hit she met air. She spun around, frowning. But Indra just shook her head.

“You are too tense. Relax.” Indra said, and Octavia forced a calm breath before she came for her again.

It went much the same way. She lunged and Indra dodged. She commented on something to change in her form, Octavia did so, and they went again. It was grating on her nerves that Indra had yet to throw a single fist but Octavia was already working up a sweat. She grit her teeth.

“Are we going to fight or are you going to keep jumping away like a coward?”

In an entirely unexpected display, Indra didn’t tense up and growl at her like she expected, and instead she actually smiled at her. “You are a fool, Octavia.”

She would have questioned why, but then Indra for the first time burst forward and Octavia had the answer to her question.

Bellamy was good. He could fight very well; she knew that. He had to for his job. But fighting Indra was like fighting a shadow. No matter how fast or furious the punch she threw Indra would duck and weave her way out of its path as if it was all slow-motion for her, following it up with a strike at her back or her chest or really _anywhere_ , and not one second later she’d find herself slammed onto the mats groaning.

She was getting destroyed. That much was obvious. But her wild grin didn’t waver. Indra kept feeding her small tidbits of advice with every time she’d defeat her, and Octavia found herself taking the words to heart in a way she had never done with teachers before. She had always had a rebellious heart and struggled to follow requests and orders, but with Indra it was different and felt natural.

Octavia let through a grunt as she fell to all fours. Her elbows dug into the padding of the mat below her. She grit her teeth, ignoring the shake in her limbs as she staggered up to her feet. She swayed but forced herself not to fall. Indra was already stepping back though. Octavia was panting at this point, and though Indra wasn’t near as winded as her, she was still a little breathless and there was a trail of sweat leaking down her temple.

“Come on,” Octavia breathed when Indra still hadn’t gone for her again.

But Indra shook her head. “That is enough. You are not strong enough for more.”

Octavia ground her teeth. “I’m fine.” She ignored the pain she could feel in her body. “Let’s go again, I can take it.”

Indra looked to her for a long moment before she sighed. “The true warrior will know when to back down, as well as when to step forward.”

Bellamy, who’d been anxiously watching the spar from the bench to the side, spoke up with a frown. “Warrior? What is this, the stone age?”

Octavia glared at him. “It’s a figure of speech Bell, quit being a dick.”

He scoffed but kept quiet.

“I have… enjoyed myself, Octavia.” Indra said, and for the first time she actually saw some emotion behind that unreadable mask. Though it seemed to be more confusion and surprise than anything else. “I do not regret sparring with you.”

Octavia understood that there was a goodbye in her words, and for some reason she wasn’t ready for it. She bit her lip before she stepped forward. “I work here. My classes finish at seven. Would you be willing to spar again, tomorrow? You could come around seven-thirty?”

Bellamy burst his feet. “Octavia there is _no_ way you’ll—“

“I believe I would like that.” Indra answered, making Bellamy’s words abruptly cut off as he gaped at them. There was amusement that twinkled in her eyes. “Until then, Octavia.”

Indra raised a hand. Octavia was surprised by the gesture but just as she reached to take it Indra’s other hand came out and grabbed her forearm. She was starting realise this was Indra’s odd way of a handshake, so with slight hesitance she returned the clasp, grasping Indra’s forearm.

“Until then.” Octavia replied, and Indra nodded. She pulled her hand back, offering a far stiffer and more reluctant nod to Bellamy before she grabbed her jacket from the bench and strolled out. For a moment or two Octavia just stood there, stunned at what had just taken place.

She only had a few seconds of peace until Bellamy was storming over to her.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” he snarled.

Octavia huffed. “I’m not a kid anymore Bell. You don’t control my life.”

He narrowed his eyes, clenching his teeth. He raised a threatening finger. “If she hurts you in _any_ way _—_ “

“You’ll throw her body into an ocean where no one will ever find her, I know, I know.” Bellamy blinked at being cut off, and right as he frowned and opened his mouth again Octavia interrupted him once more. “And you’ll kill me too for putting myself in danger, I know. Seriously Bell. I’ve heard this speech a _million_ times before, and I’m fine aren’t I?”

He glared at her. Though his shoulders slacked, and Octavia grinned because she knew she’d won him over. “Fine.” He grumbled. “ _Fine._ But my threat still stands.”

She gave him a placating smile and ruffled his hair, laughing when he scowled at her and slapped her hand away. “Of course Bell. I wouldn’t expect any less.”

She shot him one last grin as she walked over to the bench and picked up her water bottle. She chugged the entire thing. Her limbs still ached, and she was sure she was going to be in hell of a lot of pain tomorrow—but she was excited. She had never met a fighting style like Indra’s. It intrigued her, and she was determined to chase after that intrigue with all she could. She smiled as she finished off her water.

She had a feeling this would end well.

-

Octavia walked up the familiar staircase to Raven and Clarke’s apartment.

Bellamy grunted from behind her, cursing her more than once for making him take the stairs when they _could_ have taken the elevator. He should have known that the moment the words had left lips upon entering the building, “god if I take the stairs I think I’ll die,” that she would then be swamped with sudden motivation to indeed take the stairs. Really it was his fault.

“O, I am—going—to—kill—you—“ each word was accompanied by a great lungful of air. Octavia was breathing a little heavy too, but nothing like the strained breaths from behind her. She shot him a smirk over her shoulder.

“I haven’t been able to see you for two years Bell. This is the tip of the revenge iceberg.”

Bellamy groaned, throwing his head back. “ _Fuck_ Octavia. I hate you so much.”

“Sure you do.”

He growled and Octavia laughed.

Bellamy had only just gotten back from his tour in the Marines. He hadn’t known what he wanted to do once he’d finished school. She supposed that he had been so used to taking care of her, as their mother was an absent figure who was barely there, that when she had finally graduated too and found her love in exercise and fighting, that he had been something of a little lost. He had told her about how he felt like, apart from protecting her, that he didn’t have much purpose.

He tried many different things. But eventually, he found a home and purpose within the Marines and while it meant she saw a lot less of her brother—which pained them both—she didn’t stop him when he went to follow it.

Octavia trudged up the last step. She was sweating, her workout this morning and her sparring matches were starting to catch up to her. She leant against a nearby wall, giving her a few moments to even out her breathing when all of sudden Bellamy stumbled up the last step and practically moaned in relief at realising they’d made it.

“Oh thank fuck,” he panted, and promptly collapsed onto the carpeted floor. He rolled onto his back, and his breathing sounded like a dying seal’s.

Octavia quirked a brow as she glanced down to him. “I thought you were meant to be crazy fit with all your training?” she asked, an amused smile tugging at her lips.

Bellamy glared at her from the floor. “Fuck. You. I have been awake for twenty-four hours. I’m going fall asleep right goddamn here.”

“Uh, no you won’t. We’re not causing trouble for Clarke and Raven.” When she saw his eyes close anyway she sighed and pushed herself off the wall. “ _Up_ , Bell. I’ll count to five.”

“What am I, six?”

“You’re acting like it.”

He glowered at her through his floppy hair. Octavia rolled her eyes, holding up a hand. “One.” She raised a finger. “Two.” A second finger. “Three.”

Bellamy’s face twisted into a grimace. “O…”

“Four.”

“ _O._ ”

“Five.” She let out a huff and let her arm fall back down. “Alright. I’m dragging you.”

Bellamy balked. “What? O don’t you dare—“

He was cut off when she stepped around so she was behind him. His eyes snapped up, and Octavia smirked before she bent down and hooked her arms through his armpits, laughing at his shouts of protest when she started to drag him. She had only made it a few steps until Bellamy was growling and jumping up, Octavia releasing her hold and biting back her smile when Bellamy glared at her as he swayed up to shaky feet.

“Ass.” He grumbled under his breath.

Octavia sighed. Sometimes she wondered what she was going to do with her brother. “Come on. Their apartment is just down the hall.” He shot her another dirty look, but at least this time he followed willingly. He came up to her shoulder.

He frowned, apparently forgetting their antics from a moment ago and growing serious. “You know, I left just after they’d moved in. In all honesty I thought they were going to leave instantly. I mean, Polis? I thought Clarke had dreams of being a doctor?”

She would have loved to give him an answer to that, but she didn’t have one. She had no idea why Clarke all of sudden ditched med school, and even more why Raven went with her with almost no complaint. Which was very strange, considering it was _Raven_. “Well, we all know she was more an artist at heart than a doctor. You’ve seen her work.”

Bellamy chuckled. “Yeah, she’s way talented.” The smile slowly slipped off his face. “But she was happy, wasn’t she? You know her need to help people. Why would she just…”

“I don’t know Bell.” Octavia interrupted with a sigh. She shrugged. “Maybe we can ask her.”

When she glanced to him she could see he still looked troubled, but with heavy shoulders he bobbed his head. “Yeah, alright. I’ve missed the Princess anyway.”

Octavia snorted. “You know she hates that nickname.”

Bellamy grinned. “Why do you think I still call her it?”

She slugged him in the shoulder. He faked a wince, and Octavia would have thrown another with some actual power when she realised they were there. She stopped by the door. Just as she was about to raise her hand to knock, she paused, glancing back to Bellamy.

“Hey I know you want answers and all, but Clarke’s been different while you’ve been gone. Just, don’t be a dick, yeah?”

Bellamy looked affronted she even had to ask. “Of course I won’t. She’s my friend too, O.”

Octavia bit her cheek to hold back a smart comment. Bellamy meant well, usually, but he had a habit of speaking before thinking. Still, she was just going to have to trust him. So she merely nodded stiffly and knocked on the door. She waited a beat, and at getting nothing, she knocked again. Octavia narrowed her eyes at the door. She made her palms flat and started slapping against the door repeatedly as if it were a set of bongos.

“Fucking hell, I’m coming!” she heard Raven curse at her from inside. “Fucking idiot. Too goddamn early for this shit. Was having a fucking fantastic dream but _no_ your wolf ass just _has_ to come around and fuck my shit up even after you _told_ me you were going to work—“

The door was pulled open sharply, and Octavia grinned wide. Raven blinked at her. She was still in her pajamas.

“O? The fuck you doing here at the crack of dawn?” Raven scowled.

Octavia raised a brow. “It’s nine-thirty.”

Raven looked at her as if she was idiot. “Exactly. Crack of dawn.” She waved a hand to help punctate her point. “So, unless you’ve got food or coffee, you can fuck off.”

Octavia glared at her. “Well, I’m here _because_ I come bearing gifts.” It was ridiculous how Raven’s face instantly lit up. Bellamy had been standing out of Raven’s line of sight, so with a smirk Octavia grabbed Bellamy’s arm and yanked him towards her.

Raven’s eyes bulged. “What the fuck!” she squealed and not a second later jumped at him and pulled him into a crashing hug. He actually stumbled back with the force of it, making Octavia snort.

“Hello to you too Raven,” Bellamy laughed while rolling his eyes, but Octavia could hear the warmth in his voice. She knew he had missed them, and by Raven’s reaction, she had too.

She continued hugging him for a moment before pulling away, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “I can’t believe you’re back! And shit, when did you get buff?”

“Kinda what happens when you do years of training.”

Raven slotted her eyes and playfully hit him in the chest. “Dick.” But soon she was smiling again. “Come on, you look like death warmed over. I’m guessing O dragged you straight here?”

“My lovely sister was oh so kind enough to let me drop my stuff off at her apartment. And while I _was_ intending to sleep, instead she forced me to go to the gym and sparred.” He scowled at her from over Raven’s shoulder. “You’re getting _wiped_ tomorrow. Just so you know.”

Raven scoffed. “Typical Octavia. Come on, we’ve got some leftovers from last night you can munch on before passing out.”

Bellamy stared at her as if she were a god. “Raven, I _love_ you.”

She smirked at him and patted his head. “Everyone does.”

Raven made a shooing motion in the direction of the open door, and he bowed dramatically at her before eagerly walking off. Raven shared an exasperated look with her that made Octavia smile.

“Ridiculous,” she heard Raven mutter under her breath, and Octavia couldn’t help but agree.

She followed behind her as they went into the apartment, but just before they crossed the threshold Octavia grabbed Raven’s elbow, pulling her a stop. Raven turned to her with a frown.

“Hey, before you were muttering something about Clarke at work?” Octavia asked. “Is she not here?”

Raven’s face cleared with her understanding. “Nah yeah, she went to work today. Won’t be home till after.”

Octavia’s brow creased. “I thought she had today off?”

“She would have, but she’s making up for the days she was sick.”

“Why on earth would she do that?”

Raven shrugged, pulling her arm out of Octavia’s grip. “Clarke’s crazy like that.”

It sounded like Raven wasn’t telling her something, but she decided to let the feeling go. Instead she huffed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s just I was hoping to talk to her, you know what with what happened last I was here.”

Raven’s eyes softened. “It’s fine, O. She was just shaken. She’s fine.”

“At the sight of blood?” she countered, doubt making her raise her brows. “You know she did like nearly a year of her residency right? And Clarke’s never been one to get weirded out by blood.”

“Drop it, O. She got in that fight the night before and was just freaked out.”

Octavia wasn’t expecting the coldness of Raven’s voice. It was strange and entirely unlike her, but then like the parting of clouds Raven grinned and slung her arm around her shoulders. “Now come on, we need to make sure Bell isn’t passed out on the kitchen floor.”

There was still unease that swirled in Octavia’s gut, but she forced a smiled and went with it.

It turned out that Bellamy had indeed passed out. Not on the kitchen floor though, the couch. In his hands was a halfway open Tupperware box. He was sprawled out on his back, his eyes hidden behind his bangs and drool pooling at the corner of his mouth into the pillow he was lying on. She saw Raven’s hand fly up to her mouth in desperate attempt to stop herself from laughing and waking him up.

“Oh my god, look at him. He’s _drooling_.”

Octavia smiled wide enough her cheeks hurt. “Guess he really _was_ tired.”

Raven was still trying to hold in laughter, but still a snort escaped. “Oh god, okay. Okay. This needs to be my screensaver.” She patted down her pajama pants, but soon she was frowning and Octavia looked to her curiously. “Fuck, I left my phone upstairs. O could you run and grab it? It should be charging by my bedside table.”

Octavia shot her an unimpressed look. “You can’t get it yourself?”

Raven whined. “ _Octavia_.”

“Ugh, fine. Lazy ass.” She ignored Raven’s pleased grin and rolled her eyes skyward. Muttering a truly creative string of curses under her breath she spun around and headed up to the stairs to Raven’s bedroom. Her legs still felt sore from her spar with Indra, and she cringed as she walked up. Maybe Bellamy had been right that they should have taken the lift.

Octavia had fallen asleep in Raven’s room more than once, so she easily went to her door and pushed it open. The moment she stepped in her nose twisted.

“Goddamn Raven, do you ever clean your shit?” she muttered, glancing around to the cluttered chaos of her bedroom. Honestly, she had no idea how Clarke lived with her. Then again Clarke was only _slightly_ neater than Raven. She supposed that was why they fit in so well together. With a sigh she attempted to manoeuvre her way through the minefield of a bedroom, dodging clothes, pens, loose paper, and even bits of wire that Octavia didn’t even want to _know_ was from.

Octavia smiled. “There you are,” she murmured, striding over to the bedside table. On top was Raven’s phone, indeed plugged into the wall and charging like she had told her. She went to reach for it, but her hand paused suddenly, and Octavia frowned. Slowly her fingers drifted just to the side of the phone. There was nothing on the small table but a lamp and Raven’s phone—but also what looked to be a slightly dented bullet.

“The hell?” Octavia mumbled as she picked up the bullet. What was weirder was even the fact that for some reason Raven had a _bullet_ by her bedside—a used one too by the looks of it—but that its material was different too. It wasn’t the usual casing she was used to seeing on bullets, as when Bellamy had first learnt how to navigate gun he had dragged her to the nearest shooting range when he was free and taught her.

The metal was oddly heavy too, shiny like steel. But it wasn’t steel Octavia realised.

It was silver.

She adjusted it between her fingers, her brow furrowed heavily. What the hell was Raven doing with a silver bullet? No one even _made_ those. They weren’t practical in the slightest. It didn’t make sense at all. Raven wasn’t a violent person. Sure, she’d slug her in the shoulder and shove her if you managed to _really_ piss her off, but apart from that she never would be one for a gun.

She got that feeling again in her gut, that unease.

Slowly Octavia put the bullet back where she’d found it. She bit her lip before unplugging Raven’s phone and slipping it into her hand. She turned around and headed for the door, though just as she was about to leave she paused, throwing one last glance to the bullet.

She had no idea why Raven had it. But it wasn’t as surprising as it should have been. Octavia had known from day one that something was up when they’d announced they were suddenly leaving Arkadia with no word or reason why. It had only taken a year until Octavia followed after them. She didn’t really have anyone apart from them, so it wasn’t a hard decision to come to Polis as well, getting a job at the gym and finding her own way without Bellamy’s shadow.

She had assumed that it was something with Clarke. They all knew how hard her Dad’s death hit her when he suddenly passed the week before graduation. Maybe she just wanted to get away, and Octavia could understand that. But this? A _bullet_? Something was going on.

She headed down the stairs, gripping Raven’s phone tight enough that her fingers hurt. She was trying to keep herself calm, as she was self-aware enough to know she had a tendency to react without thinking things through, so she tried her hardest to shove her rising anger down as she descended the stairs and walked up to Raven. She saw that Bellamy was still passed out, Raven standing in the same place she’d left her, grinning wide at Bellamy’s snore.

She spun around at hearing Octavia’s approaching steps. Her shoulders dropped.

“There you are! Was the phone not there or something? You took ages.”

Octavia said nothing as she handed the phone over. She bit the inside of her cheek, her body running with tension as Raven gratefully took the phone off her and snapped a photo of Bellamy.

Raven laughed, though she managed to keep her voice quiet. “I can’t wait to show Clarke. This is hilarious. Do you think we should draw on his face like we used to?”

Octavia couldn’t take it anymore. “Raven why do you have a bullet in your bedroom?” she hissed in a whisper.

Raven’s smile instantly dropped. She swallowed. “O…”

“No, Raven what the _hell_? The fuck is going on with you? Like I can deal with you moving away for whatever reason but a _bullet_ , and a fucking silver one at that?” Octavia threw up her arms. “Can you _please_ explain to me what a silver bullet, a _used_ one, is doing in your room?”

“O, it’s not what you think—“

“I don’t know what to think!” Octavia snapped. She forced herself to take a breath, ignoring how her hands trembled. “Raven. What is it? Did you get involved with the wrong people or something?”

“No, no it’s nothing like that, look I just,” Raven bit her tongue. She swore in frustration. Octavia was about to go off again until Raven suddenly stepped forward, grabbing her by the shoulders so she was forced to look directly at her. “I need you to trust me O. Please. I’m fine, I’m okay, I promise. I… I can’t tell you, alright? And I’m sorry,” Raven quickly added, when Octavia scoffed sharply and attempted to pull away from her. “Octavia I’m sorry. But I need you to trust me. Don’t look into this, I’m fine.”

Octavia remained silent, her eyes flicking between Raven’s. “Is it about Clarke?” she asked quietly.

Raven hesitated and that was answer enough. “No.”

“You’re lying.”

She swore again, letting Octavia go and stepping back. “O, please. _Please_. Just leave it.”

Octavia blinked. She wasn’t even sure ‘please’ was a word in Raven’s vocabulary. The fact that Raven was even _able_ to beg for this was signal enough that something was very wrong. It also meant that for once not even Raven’s pride was stopping her in this—meaning she wouldn’t be getting answers from her.

“Alright.” Octavia said after a heavy silence. She watched confused, as Raven’s whole body seemed to deflate in its relief.

“Thank you,” she breathed, and her eyes were full of such rare sincerity. Octavia forced a smile.

There was no way in hell she was letting this go.

-

Clarke felt her stomach roll uncomfortably as she walked up the gravel path.

She was assuring herself that she wasn’t nervous, that everything was going to be completely fine—but her mind wasn’t cooperating. She dug her hands in the pockets of her jeans when she found she couldn’t stop drumming them against her thigh. The closer she got the more intense the plethora of smells became, but what stuck out more than anything was that familiar smell of pine, or what Clarke was now recognising as the scent of the Trikru.

Lexa had stopped by this afternoon at the art store.

She hadn’t been expecting it at all. The store was empty, Clarke having just dealt with a sweet old couple who lived just up the road from their apartment. She had only just settled back into her chair when she heard the store door open again and she casually glanced up. She froze at seeing who was there.

Lexa looked different then the previous times she’d seen her. There had always been this tension, a tightness in her eyes and shoulders that never seemed to disappear, but when she had seen her there it was different— _she_ was different. Lexa, actually, looked the slightest bit _relaxed_ even.

Clarke wasn’t able to speak as Lexa slowly approached her. Their stares drilled into each other. It didn’t help that the second she saw her and caught her scent she was almost immediately jolted back to the moment in the forest a week ago, to the sensation of Lexa’s teeth dragging against her throat.

Her throat was so dry she could almost taste blood when she swallowed.

“Lexa, hey,” Clarke eventually pushed out, hating herself for how breathless she sounded. If it was any consolation, Lexa looked equally off-kilter. Clarke was actually pretty sure her cheeks were dusted just a little pink.

“Hello Clarke,” Lexa greeted, and _fuck_ why did she have to say her goddamn name like that? The store suddenly felt far too hot but if heaven existed it seemed be watching over her, because Wells was abruptly appearing out of nowhere, peeking his head out from one of the aisles. He frowned slightly as he glanced between.

“You all good Clarke?” he asked, and both her and Lexa jolted. Clarke swallowed before nodding stiffly.

She forced a smile. “Yeah, perfectly fine.” Her voice only shook a little. Wells was watching her closely though, and she knew he wasn’t going to simply leave her with that. She shot a quick look at Lexa. “Actually Wells, would you mind checking the back for me for those large scale canvasses we got?”

There was a moment where she thought he wasn’t going to leave for her request, but then there was an easy smile tugging at his lips and he bobbed his head. “I’ll check. Will be about five minutes.”

“That’s fine.” Clarke kept her tight smile and the second he finally ducked out her shoulders slacked. Releasing an only slightly trembling breath, she glanced to Lexa out of the corner of eye before slipping off her stool and coming around. “So, how did you find me?” she started once she was near, leaning her hip against the counter side. She cocked a brow, hoping to diffuse the sudden tension between them and feeling relieved when it worked.

“You were easy to track. Your scent is…very prominent here.”

Clarke’s smile turned a little more genuine and far more sly. “It’s rude to a tell a girl she smells, you know.”

Lexa threw a glare at her. It only made Clarke’s grin widen. “You know that is not what I said.” She reprimanded, but Clarke only shrugged.

She crossed her arms over her chest, propping her hip against the counter. “Perhaps. Why are you here, Lexa?” She almost added that it was not entirely unwanted having Lexa here, but she just managed to bite the words off her tongue.

The skin around Lexa’s eyes tightened. Clarke straightened and lost her smile, realising Lexa had actually come with a purpose and she had to be serious. Lexa stepped forward and reached into her back pocket. She pulled out a small piece of neatly folded paper. “This is the address of my house. You will need to come by before the end of the day. You must meet the rest of the pack, as you will be sharing this territory with them for a while.”

Clarke furrowed her brow as she came forward too. She reached her hand and took the offered paper. Their fingers briefly grazed each other’s, and Clarke ignored the shock of warmth that jolted up her arm from the contact. She cleared her throat and hastily stuffed the paper in her back pocket.

“Thanks,” Clarke said quietly, and Lexa nodded, something she was noticing that Lexa did a lot.

Lexa ground her teeth, her hands twitching at her side. “We will speak soon then. Goodbye Clarke.” Despite the tension in her frame, her voice was soft, and Clarke was powerless to not be drawn to it.

“Goodbye Lexa.” She said, and she would have approached—though Clarke had no idea of what she’d do—but Lexa was already turning around and pulling open the shop door. She cast her one last glance over her shoulder; something unreadable in her gaze before all too soon she was clenching her jaw again and striding out.

Clarke still had the piece of paper in her pocket. She was surprised when she’d read the address and looked it up on google maps. Raven had actually spat out her drink when she’d showed her.

It was a mansion. It was a small ways out from the centre of town where Raven and her lived, and the part of the neighbourhood she walked now was highly isolated and housed only the largest and grandest of homes. It was notoriously expensive, and empty. She supposed that was the perfect combination for werewolves. It wasn’t exactly beckoning of visitors.

Clarke eyed the massive house as she approached. The architecture was rustic, gorgeous red brickwork that had her fingers itching with the urge to trace her tips over them, to feel the rough texture so she could try to recreate on a canvas back home. There was also a huge fountain, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile at the dark stoned wolves. Ironic that Lexa had been angry for her telling Raven and yet it looked like they weren’t even trying to be subtle. No one was out front, but when she strained her hearing she could catch the muffled sounds of shouting and grunting, as well disturbingly delighted laughter coupled with low curses. She slowed as went up the two wooden steps and stopped by the front door.

She rolled her eyes at the golden metal wolf knocker.

Unbelievable.

With a huff she lifted it and knocked it a couple times. She stepped back, her fingers still trenched deep within her pockets as she rocked back on her heels and glanced around. She could admit the scenery was beautiful here. They were practically right up against the forest. The back end of the house must lead directly into it.

It wasn’t long till she heard the shuffle of feet and suddenly the door was opening. She had been expecting Lexa, but instead was met with a complete stranger. Then again, Lexa was only _slightly_ less of a stranger. For a moment she had the irrational thought she was in the wrong place, but then she took a subtle sniff of the air and knew he smelt of Trikru, and of werewolf.

The man had dark skin and thick muscles that were almost straining against his shirt, but his brown eyes were surprisingly kind and warm as he looked her over. She could see the edges of a tribal tattoo poking out from his sleeves.

Clarke cleared her throat. “Hey uh, Lexa told me to come by.”

“Yeah, you’re Clarke right?” the man said, he gave her a gentle smile and Clarke felt herself relax slightly. She had been expecting a lot more hostility to be honest.

She offered him a small smile. “The one and only.”

His grin widened. “I’m Lincoln. Lexa’s just supervising something out back.” He offered her a hand, and Clarke only hesitated a moment before moving to shake it. Except just as she was about to grab his, his other came up and he gently grasped her wrist, adjusting her hand so it instead gripped his forearm. At her frown he hastened to explain. “That is how we greet each other. Grab the forearm.”

Clarke raised a brow but complied. She gave his forearm a cautious squeeze, Lincoln grabbing hers and repeating the same. “I’m guessing Lexa already told you I’m new to all this then?”

He smiled again. “In a way. Oh, and a bit of advice: grip tighter. A weak hold can be a sign of disrespect. You also don’t want to come across as weak yourself.” They let go and Lincoln stepped back, gesturing for her to come in. Clarke blinked at the unexpected advice, but she made close note of it. She was entering uncharted territory here—she had to take all she could get. “Lexa’s still a little busy, so I’ll give a brief tour before bringing you to her.”

Clare paused from where she’d just crossed into the threshold of the house. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Lincoln, because honestly he seemed like a genuinely nice guy so far, but she knew Lexa, if only a little more. She trusted the safety of her life far more in her hands. Which was also another mental problem to digest for another day, but—that aside—she wasn’t sure she was comfortable enough to follow Lincoln into the lion’s den. Well, _wolves’_ den.

Lincoln seemed to notice her hesitation. “You have nothing to fear here, Clarke. You’re here on Heda’s permission. A rare one at that, no one will start a fight with you.” He threw her a gentle smile. “Least of all me.”

Clarke hadn’t quite considered the full consequences of her actions. When she’d offered her throat to Lexa, it was in trust that she would be able to keep the home she’d made here. She should have expected it though. Lexa had warned her that the act could be considered quite personal.

“Promise you won’t tear my throat out if I turn my back?” she asked, and honestly she was only _mostly_ joking.

But Lincoln just chuckled. “You have my word.”

Clarke was still a little apprehensive, but she forced herself to trust him. “Alright then. After you.”

Lincoln shook his head with a grin but complied. He walked past her and she followed on behind him, mindful to stay close yet no too close. Sure, he had quite literally just assured her he meant no harm, but she had always been slow on the build of trust. Her eyes couldn’t help but track the shift of his walk and how close his hands were to anything that could be used as a weapon.

The inside of the house was equally as gorgeous as the outside though. She stared up into dark wooden paneled walls with an open mouth, the glimmering chandelier that hung just near the entrance to the house, late afternoon sunlight bleeding in through the windows and making the crystals shine. Though some parts of the home looked old, like the small claw scratches into the walls she’d sometimes see—she had to swallow dryly when she saw those—faded framed photos strung up and revealing faces she didn’t know.

But when they drifted past the staircase and into a living room, the long black leather couch looked new. There was a fireplace too that someone was in the midst of starting up. There were two others in the room as well, one standing by the fireplace, seeming to be in quiet conversation with the one starting it, and the other leaning on the couch and reading a book. All their heads simultaneously popped up the second her and Lincoln entered the room. They all stood up.

Their gazes all zeroed on her. They were all intimidating men too, and much more like what she was expecting. Lincoln may be well built, but his demeanour was kind, yet the men that were looking at her now were barrel chested and looked like they could fight bears and win. She subconsciously drew herself up and the only thing that stopped her from growling was the hand she felt from Lincoln, touching her arm. Her eyes snapped up at him, but he just discreetly shook his head in signal for her to not start anything.

“Nyko, Ryder, Gustus. This is Clarke.” Lincoln gestured to her, pointing out the men as he spoke their names. They all had thick beards and face tattoos, and visually they all sort of looked like the same menacing and terrifying face you’d see in warriors in history books. But their scents were distinctly different, and that was what Clarke took greater note of.

They all had hard gazes, though thankfully they seemed more suspicious than legitimately threatening. The one with a v-shape tattoo on his forehead leading down to his nose, tilted his chin as he examined her. “You are the mutt who stays on Heda’s say-so?” he asked, his voice deep and rough. She remembered him as Ryder.

Clarke forcefully kept the snarl from breaking out of her throat. It was taking every ounce of self-control. She felt volatile surrounded by so many wolves. Oddly, it wasn’t Lincoln that came to her aid, but one of others. He had a half spiral-type tattoo on his right cheek and blue eyes that were seemed less harsh than the two other men.

“He means no insult to you.” Nyko said. “Mutt is the name for packless wolves.”

“It sounds derogatory.” Clarke muttered with a raised brow.

Nyko’s lips quirked up slightly. “It depends on the context. In this, Ryder simply makes an observation.”

Clarke’s eyes slid from Nyko’s blue ones to Ryder’s. “In that case, then yes.”

They all watched her for a moment and Clarke had to consciously fight to keep her hackles lowered when suddenly Ryder was giving her a stiff nod and coming towards her. He offered a hand and Clarke didn’t hesitate this time to grasp his forearm in greeting, mindful to be firm like Lincoln had told her. It was pretty much impossible to read him through his thick black beard and stoic mask, but when he pulled away she saw his nod of approval, and she knew she had done it right.

She greeted Nyko and Gustus the same way. Nyko’s grip was oddly gentle—as gentle as it could be for a werewolf—but Gustus’ grip was like iron. In response she gripped tighter, and for a second they did nothing but stare at each other in silent contest. Clarke didn’t show a hint of discomfort at the brute strength he was forcing into her arm. Some buried part of her was downright enraged at the challenge. Her lip pulled back ever so slightly, though she kept her growl silent, and Gustus squeezed impossibly tighter before letting go.

“I can see why Heda took interest in you.” He said, and before Clarke could even blink at the completely unexpected words he gave the room a stiff nod and disappeared behind her, slipping up the stairs in heavy thuds.

There was an awkward beat where no one said anything until Lincoln turned to her with a nervous smile. “Well, that went great, didn’t it?’

She returned the grin. “No bloodshed at least.”

Lincoln laughed. “Come on. We will meet Lexa with the others outside.” He started walking again, and Clarke could only throw one last glance at Nyko and Ryder, their eyes still tracking her as she followed after Lincoln.

She was really hoping that every werewolf she met wasn’t going to be a pissing match, but it was starting to feel like that was what she was in for. The worst part though was the way she couldn’t stop herself from rising to it. As much as she’d love to play calm and grateful, the second one of them even narrowed their eyes at her she was hit with an irrational need to prove her strength. The urge came with humans too, so she’d been getting used to it, but the intensity was tenfold when around werewolves it seemed.

Lincoln led her out the living room and through a kitchen. Her gaze snapped onto the wide breakfast bar table and where she could see a whole plate of cold chicken that was half eaten into. He must have sensed her switched attention because she heard a soft laugh that had her reluctantly tearing her gaze off the food.

“Just had a late lunch. Snack for others. The others outside will be coming in soon anyway and devouring the rest.” He shot her conspiratorial grin. “Gustus, for all intimidating he looks, is an _incredible_ chef.”    

Clarke couldn’t stop her surprised laugh. “Seriously? He looks like he belongs in a biker gang.”

“I know, right? But I’m telling you, stay on his good side. The food is worth it.”

She felt more relaxed at Lincoln’s side. It was starting to become clear that stoicism and imposing figures were the nature of werewolves, and it was a relieved surprise to find that Lincoln, while still looking like his punches would pack a mean amount of pain, that his nature was far kinder and softer. He reached for the backdoor and it swung upon to reveal the backend of the house, the late afternoon sunlight crashing in as they stepped out onto the grass.

Clarke had only made a few steps till she was freezing. She suddenly learnt what the grunts and shouts that she’d heard when she was at the front were.

There were two werewolves going at it, a man and a woman, they were both coated in sweat and dirt as they circled each other. Off to the side were Lexa and Indra, both intently watching the pair fight. Another man was watching them too, but he stood further from his Alpha and Indra, his face looking caught between a grimace and a snarl as he observed the fight.

Clarke didn’t need to know about fighting to understand that the man was getting wiped. The woman’s strikes were impossibly quick, so fast Clarke honestly thought the only reason she could even _see_ them was because she was a werewolf. The woman would beat him down to nothing, only stopping when the man would eventually cave and let out this strange canine-like whine that Clarke instinctively knew was of submission. He’d show her his throat and the woman would grin wolfishly before getting off him and allow him a few seconds to recover.

It was brutal to watch. “What are they doing?” Clarke asked Lincoln, and though she tried to look to him she couldn’t tear her gaze off the fight. It was both disturbing and mesmerising to watch.

Lincoln paused before answering. “Play fighting.”

Clarke scoffed. “That doesn’t look like _playing_ Lincoln. He’s getting beaten to a pulp.” As if to punctuate her words the woman managed a particularly hard punch at his ribs. A crack and pained grunt snapped through the air.

“Training then. This isn’t meant in any ill way, Clarke. He will heal anyway.” Clarke winced when the woman kicked him so hard that he was sent flying backwards and slammed into the ground.

“Come on Quint!” the man from the side shouted with a snarl.

“Echo! What has been said about killing blows?” Indra snapped.

The woman—Echo presumably—spat at Quint’s feet from where he remained curled up on the ground. “Filthy runt.” She muttered. “How many times do you need to challenge me and fail to get the message through that thick head of yours?”

To Clarke’s surprise Quint didn’t react at the insult like she expected. Instead he made the whine again, making himself smaller. Echo’s bloody smile was victorious and vicious.

“As I thought. Get up. We aren’t done, maybe today you’ll learn to quit fighting better wolves.”

She stepped back, and though Clarke knew that Quint should seriously stay down or step out with the amount of injuries he seemed to be carrying, he obeyed her, and spitting a mouthful of blood to the ground he swayed up onto his feet.

“What’s he doing?” Clarke asked bewildered. She finally managed to glance to Lincoln this time.

Lincoln looked to her. “He is the omega of the pack.”

He was staring at her expectantly, like that meant anything to her. She shook her head. “Omega?” she just repeated.

“He is the lowest rank. It… is common for others take their frustrations out on him. This fight is nothing. He has gone through worse.”

Clarke blinked at him. “Why the hell would he stay in the pack if he’s getting _beaten_?”

“Because omega is simply a rank. Like any rank, he can escape it. It’s why he’s challenged Echo again,” he narrowed his eyes as he looked up to the continuing fight. “Echo has the closest chance to becoming the next omega. She was exiled from another pack, but was taken in by Trikru. Quint keeps challenging her, because if he even manages to best her once, his rank and respect will rise.”

Clarke frowned. “What rank are you?”

He gave her a grin. “The best. The middle. We only have names for the lowest and the highest, as well the second highest. Our beta is Indra, and as you know, Lexa is our alpha.” She took the information in, knowing it was something she had to do good on remembering. Lincoln seemed to notice, because he bit his lip before continuing on to elaborate. “It’s like… Indra is our general. If Lexa were to pass, she is most likely to become the next Alpha.”

“Indra’s the general and Lexa is the queen.” Clarke muttered quietly, and Lincoln chuckled.

“Yeah. Like that.”

What the hell had Clarke gotten herself into?

The man who’d been watching the fight swore again when Quint was thrown to the ground. Indra shot him a warning glare from across the grass, and the man ground his teeth, but he ducked his head before storming away from him. Clarke realised he was coming directly for her, and he faltered slightly when his eyes met hers—but then he was scowling again and shoving his way past her, disappearing into the house.

“Who was that?” Clarke questioned. Despite the intimidating figures of all of the other werewolves she’d met, Nyko and Gustus and Ryder, that man was the one that reminded her most of what she had _expected_ werewolves to be. Wild and aggressive and dangerous.

Lincoln sighed, giving the slammed door one last glance before looking back out to the fight. “His name is Tristan. Quint is his brother. He has tried to train him to be better so he can escape the position of omega but, as you can see, it’s not working.”

“It must pain him to watch his brother get beaten and be able to do nothing.” Clarke murmured.

Lincoln shifted on his feet, but said nothing.

She turned back in time to see Quint get thrown into the ground one more time. But it seemed this was the last, because though Echo was panting and her eyes were wild and frenzied, she staggered back. The exhaustion of the fight must be catching up with her.

“Try me again Quint.” When she didn’t get an immediate response she growled low and bared her teeth. Quint was still lying on his side, but at the snarl he rolled onto his back, exposing his stomach and throat. Echo’s growl tapered off, and she cast one last satisfied look at him before walking away. Clarke could hear Quint’s pained huffs and grunts from here.

Indra immediately split off to walk after Echo. Clarke’s gaze flicked over to Lexa, watching the deep breath she took before turning around and suddenly looking directly at her. Except it wasn’t at her, it was at Lincoln.

“Get Nyko. Make sure Quint isn’t severely injured. Echo went too hard again.”

Lincoln nodded. “Yes Alpha.” He was about to peel away from her side, but Clarke felt him pause, and she met his gaze just before he left. He smiled at her. “It was good meeting you Clarke. You never know what to expect with packless wolves, but you seem like you’ll fit in fine.” He offered her one last playful salute before he spun on his heel and headed back into the house to complete his alpha’s orders.

Clarke was slow to turn back around to the front. She swallowed thickly as she saw Lexa approach her. She slowed as she pulled to a stop in front of her, and for a moment they did nothing but take each other in, Clarke unable to stop herself from drinking in the sight of Lexa. Of the sharpness of her jaw and the slope of her nose. It was the eyes; those damn green eyes like always that sucked her in like jade hurricanes and trapped her within.

“I am glad you came.” Lexa eventually spoke softly. Clarke blinked herself from her daze.

She laughed nervously and dug her hands into her pockets. “Did I really have a choice?”

The corner of Lexa’s lip tilted upwards. “Perhaps not. But… it is still appreciated.” They got caught up in analysing one another again. Lexa brought her hands behind her back. “I heard Lincoln explaining to you the hierarchy of the pack.” She said, and like that the blank mask slipped back into place, but Clarke couldn’t help but notice it was a little weaker than usual. Still, the sight was unnerving like it always was.

“Yeah. You’re the alpha, Indra is the beta and Quint is… the omega.” She dug her nails into her thighs from within her pockets. “With Quint, does he get beaten like that often?” she asked quietly, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible.

It seemed she failed, because Lexa sighed, a knowing look in her eye. “Only when he challenges Echo. She was more lenient at the start, but he’s constantly challenging her now. It’s endangers her own reputation within the pack, so she has to fight harder to keep herself above him.” She shrugged. “It is the nature of werewolves. We all learn to fight. We all learn to heal.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “When you say ‘ _all_ ’, you don’t mean…”

Lexa had the audacity to give her a smirk. If Clarke weren’t so immensely attracted to it, she would have slapped it right off. “This includes you. Do you know how to fight?”

Clarke sighed, resigning herself to her fate. She supposed there was worse in the world. “Not really. My dad had showed me how to hold a fist and to hit a guy in a throat. You know, for any unwanted advances.” She smiled slightly at the memory. Her father had been amendment on that. Had drawn over exaggerated diagrams and everything. It was both exceedingly embarrassing and heartwarming.

“He sounds like a good man.”

Clarke’s smile turned sad. “He was.”

Lexa’s eyes softened to this shade she had never seen before, and despite the threatening darkness that she felt was one inch away from collapsing onto chest, the sight made warmth spread beneath her ribs. “You will need to learn then. I can teach you, if you’d wish for it.”

Clarke would _very_ much like that, but still she hesitated. “Why do I need to learn? I mean, I know the world is fucked a place, but that girl being killed was the only violent thing to happen here in the past generation.”

“You don’t understand the world you now live in.” Lexa answered quietly, and sadness clung to her words. “Death is… more common among werewolves. Disputes over territory, challenges… Violence is commonplace. If you do not learn at the very least to defend yourself, you put yourself in grave danger. And of any of those you love.”

Clarke swallowed. “Right. Learning to fight it is then.”

Lexa looked like she wanted to say something, but though her mouth opened no sound came out. In the end she just sighed and grit her teeth. “Come. There is something you need to see.”

Clarke’s brow creased, but she bobbed her head and followed after Lexa. She was expecting to be led back into the house but though they walked in the direction of it, they veered to the right, and Clarke trailed behind Lexa as they walked around the side of the mansion. She only realised where they were going when Lexa suddenly stopped. She turned to her, gesturing to something to the side near her feet.

It was a cellar door. The hatches looked thick though, at an angle and heavy of shining steel. Clarke frowned as she examined it closer, tilting her head as she adjusted herself so was standing directly in front of it. There was a thick chain hooked through the handles of the cellar doors, an equally impressive lock keeping it in place. She crouched down, leaning closer to the cellar. The smell of the metal was sharp in her nose, and with an ominous tug in her gut she reached a hand and gently grazed her fingertips over the metal.

It stung her finger, sharp nips spitting up her hand.

“It’s silver,” Clarke breathed aloud.

“It is coated with it.” Clarke was still knelt down, and she craned her head behind her up at Lexa.

“Why would you do that? Aren’t you worried it will hurt you, your pack?”

“There is a purpose to it.” She stepped forward and inclined her head in gesture for Clarke to step back. Though she lingered beat, a rise of confusion and even a hint of anger, she complied and pushed herself to her feet. Lexa came in front and knelt down, bringing out a key from her back pocket and slipping into the lock. She then promptly yanked it off, the chain slipping off the handles with a sharp clatter.

She gripped the handles—Clarke saw how Lexa winced at the feel of it against her skin—before she jerked it open with a grunt. The cellar doors were thrown open, revealing a stone staircase that ran below. It must lead under the house. Lexa turned to her.

“Follow me.”

Clarke had only just nodded before Lexa was already descending into the darkness. She sighed. “Totally isn’t the beginning to a horror movie or whatever,” she muttered under her breath, but she thought Lexa had heard because she caught Lexa’s annoyed exhale. It made Clarke smile.

Though it had seemed near pitch black from above, once she was in and her eyes had quickly adjusted to the light, she found it wasn’t all that dark. It led into what looked like a standard basement which was… surprising. There was piles of household junk littered around them; a lamp with a broken shade; a painting with a rip down the middle, backed up against a marble décor that probably once resembled a face but now looked like a caved in hill; stacks upon stacks of books, some wedged into dark wooded bookshelves and others just piled like towers on the cement floor. The air was colder down here too, and she felt her arm hairs raise with goose bumps from the abrupt drop in temperature.

Clarke scrunched her nose. The air was stale and smelt of dust. “Any reason we’re down here, or is this just your audition for Hoarders?”

Lexa shot her glare from over her shoulder. Clarke merely raised a brow, gesturing to the chaos around them. Sadly, she didn’t rise to the bait, and instead just turned back around and continuing walking through. Clarke realised that a path had actually been scaled within the mess. Lexa stopped suddenly by one of the bookcases and Clarke only just kept herself from running into her back.

Before Clarke could even _begin_ on her insult however Lexa reached out to one of the books. Her gaze flicked back to meet Clarke’s, and Lexa shot her that smirk again, a rare mirth dancing in her eyes before she pulled the book. Unlike how Clarke expected, it didn’t fully come out but stopped at an angle. There was a click and the distinct sound of rolling gears. Clarke’s jaw dropped.

It was a fucking lever.

Lexa’s smirk widened at Clarke’s reaction. The bookcase grunted and crackled as it slowly began to slide open. Behind it was a hidden door.

“Lexa, what the actual _fuck_.”

“Some things must remain hidden.” Lexa simply said in lieu of explanation. She grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open. Clarke’s limbs still felt like they were buzzing with her shock, but she just managed to snap her jaw shut and cautiously trail after her.

The next room was wider than the last. Unlike the previous, it wasn’t filled with copious amounts of junk but was actually surprisingly clean and well kept. It still had a heavy murder vibe however, because the walls were all thick stone and there was no outside light. There was also a thick iron door on one wall with a thick bolt. The room did have bookshelves though, but there was only two, these filled neatly into tightly compacted rows of thick-paged books. When Clarke approached she saw nearly all the binds were well worn and cracked. The shelves took up one side of the room, the other containing what looked to be a stone pillar of some sort. Atop was another book, but this one was massive. It was flung open and the pages were so yellowed they were almost brown. It looked as if it had been made centuries ago.

She found that while she had initially drifted to the bookcase, now that she’d spotted the other book she couldn’t stop staring it. She could feel a pressure building in her head, a familiar rising in her chest. Something about it was drawing it to her and her feet were already moving without her permission. She had only made a few steps when she heard her name being called and all of sudden it was like she was being snapped from a daze.

Clarke spun around with a jump, feeling her heart lurch into her throat. She blinked as she saw Lexa standing behind her, frowning slightly.

“Are you alright?” Lexa asked quietly, and though she tried to hide it Clarke could see the concern in her eyes.

She gulped, but her throat was so dry it felt like swallowing glass. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She released a shaky breath. “What’s that?”

She only dared a quick glance to the book before focusing back on Lexa. Lexa was watching her curiously. Her eyes flicked between Clarke and the book. “Nothing but legends. Our kind has evolved with humans. It holds stories across the very dawn of wolves.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “What, so it’s like, a history book of wolves?”

Lexa bit her lip. “Not entirely. It dates so far back… most disapprove of it and don’t believe. It is why I said legends. They are tales, no one knows if they are facts.”

“Right.” She threw one last look to the book again. She could feel the tug in her gut once more and hastily tore her gaze off it. “So, why did you bring me down here?”

Lexa lingered a beat. But in the end it seemed she decided to let it go. “A week ago in the forest, you met what we now call a _ripa_ , or reaper.” She beckoned her over, and Clarke’s curiosity led her forward. She came up to her as Lexa reached to one of the books nestled within the bookshelf and pulled it out. There was a nearby table that she led Clarke over to and laid it down.

“Yeah. His name was Dante, right?” Clarke asked, eyes watching Lexa’s hands as she opened the book. This one looked far newer than the one of the legends, but it was still clearly old.

“Yes.” Lexa answered without looking at her, flicking through the pages.

Clarke bit her cheek. There was something that had been bugging when she’d first heard Lexa say his name. “What’s his last name?”

Lexa paused from where she’d been turning the pages. “Why do you wish to know?” she questioned, and this time she did look up to her. Their gazes met.

Clarke sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I know of a Dante. I’m just… I’m worried it’s the same person.”

Lexa watched her for a moment before answering. “Wallace. His full name is Dante Wallace.”

Clarke closed her eyes. Shit.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s fine just,” she let out a frustrated huff. “It’s nothing. Keep talking.”

She was going to have to tell Caleb the birthday present wasn’t needed. God, and _she_ was the one who killed him. How was she meant to look him in the eye and tell him she’d murdered his best friend’s father?

Lexa was still staring at her with a slightly furrowed brow. She hesitated, but when Clarke gestured for her to go on she eventually conceded. “The reaper you met within the forest,” she continued, her eyes still on her. “You told me that he felt… wrong. While I’m not quite sure how you knew that, you were right.”

Clarke straightened. “How?”

“There is a state that wolves can enter called _Jusgafen_. Or, in English: Bloodlust. It is described as an insatiable urge to kill. The affected become faster, stronger, but they’re wild and feral. It is normally triggered by a particularly traumatic event, mainly through extreme anger and devastation. It is…” Lexa paused, taking a deep breath, “very difficult, almost impossible to bring someone out of _Jusgafen_. Usually they have to come out of it on their own. A lot of the time it is considered safer to put them down. _Jusgafen_ is suspected to be a remnant of the first werewolves.”

“How long does it last?” Clarke asked, trying to tame the sudden galloping of her heart.

Lexa looked back to the book. “It can span from days to weeks. Sometimes even months. It is said to only stop once the affected has recovered from their own anger and pain. Centuries ago, when it was common for wolves to be killed by hunters, sometimes entire villages could be wiped out.”

Clarke could feel her hands shaking. “And, this…Bloodlust—is it only as a wolf?”

“No, it will affect the victim in whichever form. It is constant.”

“You’re sure?”

Lexa glanced up at her. Clarke tried to hide how unnerved her piercing stare felt. “Yes… I am sure.” Clarke averted her gaze. She heard Lexa sigh before continuing. “I tell you this because this is what reapers are, in a way. But it is wrong. Their Bloodlust, it is artificially induced, it messes with their blood, they cannot escape it no matter what.”

“How?” Clarke asked, a foreign burst of anger rising in her chest.

Lexa pointed to the book. Clarke ground her teeth, but she listened and stepped closer, leaning down and scanning the words of the book. It looked to be handwritten, lines and lines of meticulously tightly packed words. Her sight was drawn to the title though.

_Mountain Men._

Clarke frowned. “Mountain Men? Who are they?”

“The thirteenth pack.” Lexa answered softly.

Clarke’s gaze snapped up, though she was instantly regretting it because she had seriously underestimated how close it would bring her to Lexa’s face. She dug her nails into the wood of the table and retreated back a little. “You said there were twelve,” Clarke muttered, and her voice was hard.

Clarke watched Lexa’s throat bob with her swallow. “The Mountain Men may be wolves, but we don’t see them as such any more. It is why we called them _men_ , and not wolves. The things they have done… they have lost the right to their species.” Lexa’s lip pulled into a snarl. “Dante had a son. His name is Cage. He is the one who made the reapers. He experimented on his own, so he could make his pack stronger. He wanted to find a way to gain the strength and speed that the wolves with _Jusgafen_ had, but without the drawbacks of becoming feral.”

Lexa took in a steadying breath. Clarke noticed she was starting to clench her jaw so hard she could hear the creak in her teeth.

“He kept trying, failing again and again. The ones who failed: that is how the reapers were created. He makes lab rats of his own. When he ran out of his own, he stole others. First mutts who had no home, and then our own. His is sick.”

“Why haven’t you killed him?” Clarke questioned bewildered. She couldn’t understand how someone who posed _that_ much of a threat was somehow still alive.

Lexa looked to her then, and her eyes were full of such pain and defeat. “Because he succeeded.” She replied gently. “Him and his wolves, they are stronger. It has been tried many times to wipe him and his pack out, but within the safety of his territory and the strength of his own, we haven’t been able to reach him.”

Clarke blew out a heavy breath. “Jesus.”

Lexa nodded solemnly. “This is the world you now live in Clarke. You have a lot to learn and not much time to do so. But it is inescapable.”

Clarke couldn’t say anything to that. She just dipped her head. They stood there in the thick silence for a few moments, both of them seeming to just take a moment to the let the words and reality sink in. She thought that maybe Lexa was offering her this time because she understood it was a lot to be thrown with. It was a weirdly kind gesture, and she forced herself not to linger on it.

After a while Lexa cleared her throat. She picked up the book and settled it back into its place. “Come. There is one last thing I would like speak with you about, but we cannot do it here.”

Clarke followed without hesitation when Lexa started for the door. Though there was a second where she threw a single parting glance to the book, the one of the legends, the one that called to her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Her eyes didn’t tear off the book until the very last second.

-

Lexa led her outside.

Clarke had been right in her assumption that the backend of the house led directly into the forest. She followed Lexa as they walked into the woods, but they didn’t go far, just out enough so they were within the cover of the trees. It was oddly private, and Clarke felt a sharp jolt of panic in her chest at the thought. She didn’t even know what she was scared for. Lexa killing her, or Lexa talking up some other ancient werewolf custom that would really test the limits of her self-control.

Lexa must have sensed her fear, because when they found a spot within the woods where the trees were spaced a little further she turned to her and relaxed her stance.

“You’ve nothing to fear Clarke. You have already submitted. You cannot be killed for trespassing now.”

“But I can be killed for other reasons?”

Lexa shot her look. “You are safe, Clarke. I'm not going hurt you.”

It was probably worrying how, really, Clarke never had a doubt that Lexa wouldn't hurt her. Whenever she was around her she felt so oddly at peace, and some instinctive part of her had an inkling that Lexa felt something similar. She could only hope so at least.

Clarke nodded. “Alright, so if you haven’t taken me out here to kill me and hide the body then… what are we doing out here?”

Lexa gave her another look before answering. “You have a fear of turning I’ve noticed, so. We will be turning here, where it is safe and you can be comfortable.”

Clarke felt her blood run cold. “What?” she breathed. Her voice shook.

Lexa stepped forward and Clarke immediately stepped back. She watched as Lexa’s clenched her fists before slowly retracting her step. “The more you fear and bury it the more it will control you. Learning to shift is one of the first things you must learn.”

“Lexa I’ll kill you,” Clarke scoffed incredulously, “can’t you see that? I have no control.”

“I very much doubt you could kill me.” Lexa deadpanned.

But Clarke shook her head. She backed up again. “Lexa, no. _No_. I’m not risking it like that.”

She only just managed to stop herself from saying risking _you_.

But somehow, Lexa seemed to have heard it anyway. Her eyes softened. “Trust me, Clarke. I am stronger than you think. The more you reject your wolf the more it will take over, you must let it, it is possible to coexist.”

Clarke barked a sharp laugh. “Coexist. You can’t ‘ _coexist_ ’ with a parasite. It’s an infection, Lexa.”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed. Her shoulders tightened. “Mind your tongue.”

“What, too harsh? Because that’s _literally_ what it is.” She drew herself up, moving forward. “I was _bitten_. By definition it’s an infection. I got bit, it got into my blood, and I was turned. I don’t know whether it makes you lucky or not to be born a wolf Lexa, but I had a _life_ before this. I had family, I had friends.” Clarke was breathing hard. Her chest rose up and down her fast, her voice somehow both growing stronger and shakier at the same time. “The wolf has no intent other than to kill. You can’t live with that, _coexist_ with that.”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that Clarke,” Lexa countered. She burst forward too, her eyes wide and pleading. “You have been caught up in your fear for too long, but you can _learn_. It doesn’t have to be this way.” When Clarke said nothing Lexa stepped even closer, till she was an arms length away. “Don’t you want you better? Aren’t you tired of being terrified of your own self?”

“Of course I want better.” Clarke snapped, her lip pulling back. “But the only way to achieve that is to kill the wolf.”

Lexa’s eyes flicked between hers. The air felt charged and like it was liable to explode at any moment. She watched as Lexa ground her teeth, until suddenly it seemed like Lexa had made a decision because she nodded and stepped back. “I will prove it to you. You don’t have to be afraid, Clarke. You can learn control, to be at one.”

Clarke frowned. “What are you—“

Her words abruptly died in her throat when Lexa suddenly shucked her jacket off. Her eyes bulged when Lexa followed it up by grabbing the edges of her shirt and hauling it off over her head.

“Lexa what the _fuck_ are you doing—“

“Proving it to you,” Lexa breathed, frowning at her as if _she_ was the one being weird. She would have said something more to stop her but she froze at the sudden expanse of skin she could see. And yeah, _sure_ she should be worried for what she knew Lexa was about to do, but her eyes zeroed on the muscled figure of her stomach and the tribal tattoos on her arm. Lexa pulled her pants off and _finally_ Clarke managed to actually pull together some sense of common decency.

“Jesus Lexa, why the fuck are you stripping?”

Lexa had the nerve to roll her eyes. She kicked off her pants, leaving her in just her boy shorts and bra and _holy mother of god_ how much exercise did she fucking do? “We’re werewolves Clarke, nudity isn’t exactly rare.”

“ _Lexa._ ”

Clarke was blushing so hard her cheeks burned. Lexa sighed. “Turn around if you wish. It makes no difference. I will still prove you have nothing to fear.”

Clarke did turn around, but not after her eyes hungrily drank in the sight of Lexa’s lithe body and if she _weren’t_ so distracted with the fact that Lexa was fucking stripping in front of her, it would have properly hit her just what exactly Lexa was planning to do. Unfortunately, she only realised when she heard the first sick _crunch_.

Lexa was shifting.

Instantly she was spinning around and stumbling back. Lexa was on her hands and knees now, head bowed and her fingers curling into the dirt as the change rippled through her. What the fuck did she think she was doing? Was she _planning_ on killing her? The fear and shock was so paralysing she could only stare with a dropped jaw and wide eyes as dark fur began spreading across Lexa’s skin. Those long dark locks shrunk, the braids disappearing as her spine arched with a rough jerk and limbs snapped and grew.

Lexa didn’t scream once. She grunted a few times, but the process was near soundless on her part, just the gut-wrenching sounds of the snapping of bones until suddenly it all stopped. Slowly, her legs shaking slightly, Lexa raised her head—that was now the head of a wolf.

Clarke stilled, and all of a sudden the fear drained out of her.

And instead she was swamped with confusion.

Clarke blinked at Lexa. Raven had shown her photos of what she looked like when she turned. At the start the scientist in Raven had been curious, and once they’d recorded the night so Clarke could see herself, watch as she paced within her cell with huffs and snarls and wild, burning yellow eyes.

But Lexa wasn’t like that. Because she looked like an _actual_ wolf—albeit a humongous version—but a wolf nonetheless. She looked nothing like Clarke had been expecting. Her eyes weren’t that burning yellow either, they were still green, that green she could pick out within a selection of thousands.

“Why…” Clarke’s voice was trembling and she could only stare in numbing shock as Lexa slowly approached her, her pace slow and careful. She kept her head down, showing herself as nonthreatening. “Why are you so… small?”

Lexa stilled. She narrowed those green eyes at her. Within a blink she let out a sharp growl and nipped one of her hands. Clarke jumped back with a hiss.

“The fuck Lexa?” she snapped, but Lexa merely stared at her, tilting her head as if to say _watch it_.

And then Clarke realised. It was still Lexa. There was no wildness in her eye. She was still there, still _present_. Clarke swallowed thickly, ignoring how clogged up how throat felt, and raising a cautious hand she reached out towards Lexa’s muzzle. She paused a few centimetres away, and it wasn’t long until Lexa was slowly making those last steps forward and licking her open palm. Clarke couldn’t help her breathless chuckle, and carefully she leaned out more and gently scratched Lexa’s ears.

At first Lexa stiffened, but then she was relaxing, and after a while she even let out a pleased little rumble. It was adorable, and Clarke didn’t understand how this could be happening. She ran her fingers through Lexa’s thick fur, and for a moment she let herself marvel at how beautiful her coat was, the dark brown such a similar shade to the brunette locks she knew. It was gorgeous.

Eventually Lexa let out a small whine before pulling away. Clarke’s hand that had been scratching the side of her head fell to her side. She watched as Lexa stepped back, and when her eyes squeezed shut Clarke knew what she was doing and stood up. She moved back, and not a second later Lexa’s body started to jerk and writhe again. This time she did turn around and offered her privacy. She waited until the snaps and crunches stopped, instead leaving Lexa’s harsh, but human, panting. Clarke stayed turned around until Lexa called out to her that she was clothed again.

Lexa’s hair was different now. It was out of its braids, free and untamed, flowing down onto her shoulder. The sight made Clarke’s heart flutter against her ribs. Those green eyes were bright and pleased as she watched her, and she was giving her the widest smile she’d seen yet from her.

“See?” Lexa breathed. “You don’t have to fear.”

Clarke swallowed. She forced a smile. “Yeah. Nothing to fear.”

Lexa seemed to understand that she had pushed it enough for today. Though Clarke could tell she was a little disappointed at Clarke’s still refusal to turn, there was determination in her eyes, as if she already knew that Clarke was going to succeed, she merely had to guide her to get there. Clarke wanted to say something. Wanted to say _anything_.

But she couldn’t. Her throat was blocked. Instead she had to blink back the wetness in her eyes.

Because really, there was only a single thought running through her head.

_Why is Lexa’s wolf different?_

-

She managed to convince Lexa that she needed a break for a bit.

She mentioned she was hungry, as that was the first thing that she could come up with—never mind she actually _was_ a bit hungry—and while Lexa had frowned slightly at Clarke’s suddenly skittish nature, she dipped her head and let her go.

“There’s some leftovers you may take from the fridge.” She said, and Clarke nodded stiffly and hastily pulled herself from Lexa’s side. She could practically smell Lexa’s confusion, but she forced herself to ignore it.

She just needed to get away. She was shaken with the knowledge that there was something _different_ , something even possibly wrong with her. Everything she’d learnt today just piled to the same pounding question that she found she couldn’t answer.

Why was she different?

Why was her wolf so much more restless and out of control, why didn’t Lexa have that crippling _fear_ , that absolute terror at the idea of letting her wolf out? It seemed so different for her. It seemed peaceful for her, like it was just another part of her. Like it didn’t keep her up at night and it didn’t make her want scream till her throat was reduced to bloody tatters.

Clarke pushed open the backyard door, wandering into the kitchen and trying to make sure her breathing stayed even. Though she was caught up in her own head, it took her less than a second to realise she wasn’t alone in the kitchen, but that someone else was already in the room. Her head snapped up, and she saw it was Tristan. His tan, bald head glinted off the ceiling light.

He was sitting at the breakfast bar, and their eyes met as Clarke pulled to an abrupt stop in the room. His dark eyes didn’t shift off her, and Clarke forced herself to keep her hackles lowered, slowly walking over to the fridge. She could feel Tristan’s stare boring into the back of head. She opened the fridge, turning her back to him in what she hoped was both of a show of trust and intimidation. If she felt comfortable to show her back to him, then he should think twice about going for her.

She wasn’t too surprised when he suddenly spoke up. “You’re that bitten mutt aren’t you?”

Clarke ground her teeth. She didn’t say anything, instead looking over the contents of the fridge. It didn’t seem to deter Tristan though.

“You know, I can see why someone would want to turn you. Got a quite figure.”

Her hand stilled from she was had been reaching for a plate of scraps of chicken. She closed her eyes and pulled in a controlled breath. It took every ounce of willpower in her, but she didn’t rise to the bait. She picked up the plate and took it out, placing it on a nearby counter. Her eyes scanned the kitchen as she searched for the bread bin.

“Word is you were isolated for three years.” Tristan went on, either not noticing her growing tension or not caring. “That’s quite impressive, normally when someone is turned it’s their first instinct to find another. To join a pack. It’s in our blood.”

She controlled her breathing. Her hand was trembling though when she reached for the bread bin and slid it open, grabbing a coupe slices. She drifted back to the fridge, grabbing some avocado and lettuce. She refused to meet Tristan’s gaze, as it would reveal far too much of how much his words were getting to her.

She heard him hum. “It’s quite strange actually. For you to isolate yourself, I mean. I think it means one of two things. You’re either terrified of wolves, or you’re terrified of yourself.”

She clenched hard enough to the butter knife her knuckles turned white.

“You did something didn’t you? Why else would you hide from Heda? There’s not much you could have done to install _that_ much fear, unless…”

She counted to five in her head. _Just breathe. Just breathe_.

“…You killed someone.”

Clarke stilled.

She could nearly _hear_ his smile. “Oh you did, didn’t you? Was it another wolf? Is that why you went into hiding, you killed a pack member and got scared they’d hunt you down?” Tristan laughed then. “No, that can’t be it. We would have heard. If it wasn’t a wolf, then it must have been a human.”

She slowly tilted her head back. Her eyes locked with his, and Tristan smirked.

“Yes, a human. Slaughtered one, didn’t you? Did you do it as a human or wolf? You do it for the pleasure, that rush you get, right before the light leaves their eyes?” he leaned forward, his grin wide and vicious. “Did you hunt them down like prey? Can you tell me the taste of their blood—“

His words were cut off when she slammed the butter knife into the counter. It didn’t matter how dull the blade was. The sheer amount of force that she used meant it drilled into the tabletop, the handle shaking rapidly back and forth.

She was facing towards him now, her breathing coming harsh through her nose. She stepped forward and instantly Tristan jumped to her feet. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to stay on lower ground when Clarke’s eyes were burning like they were now. Yet still, he kept that maniacs grin as Clarke slowly approached him.

“You never forget your first. I’ll bet you still think about it. If I asked you what their last words were, could you tell me? Or was it nothing but a dying scream?”

Clarke felt something in her break.

She remembered his last words like he’d whispered them in her ear.

 _I love you_.

Clarke snarled and lunged forward. Tristan’s eyes widened and though he seemed to be expecting it, she was still somehow faster than him, and her fingers fisted the collar of his shirt and slammed him into the wall behind him. He let out a growl of his own, but even as he struggled against her it was useless. Her death grip didn’t shift an inch. She kept him at an arms length, her teeth bared and her snarl vibrating her throat. She lifted him against the wall so only the tips of his boots touched the floor.

She could feel her control slipping. She had felt like she’d been trapped in a cage the moment she’d stepped onto this territory, and the fact that she hadn’t torn his throat out with her teeth yet was a testament to her willpower. Her gaze was getting dangerously red though, and she knew it wouldn’t be long till she would give in. Tristan had unknowingly pushed all the right—and wrong—buttons, and Clarke knew it was over.

He seemed to too. That cockiness drained from his face and instead came real fear, but before Clarke could finally give in she heard a sudden shout and a hand was roughly grabbing the back of her shirt. She was thrown backwards and she stumbled until her back hit the fridge.

Tristan was abruptly dropped to the floor. He was still staring at her with wide eyes, but before his face could break out into a snarl, the person who’d interrupted them was suddenly in front of Clarke and baring her teeth.

It was a woman, but it wasn’t one of the werewolves she’d met yet. Her features were sharp, almost hawkish, and her brown eyes _burned_ as she growled at her. Before Clarke could do anything the woman came at her and grabbed her, throwing her into her kitchen counter. Clarke cursed at the spike of pain at the feeling of the counter edge cutting into her back, but still she staggered up to her feet, standing eye to eye to the growling woman.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she thundered, and while Clarke in any other situation would have backed down, knowing this wasn’t the time to start a fight—her blood was still boiling with what Tristan had said. So instead she snarled and lurched forward only for the woman to grab her by her shirt with both hands and shove her back into the fridge.

Clarke bucked with a snarl, trying to escape her grip but only feeling the woman hold her tighter. At least it looked like the woman was struggling with holding her back, because already there was sweat leaking down her temple as she attempted to hold Clarke down.

The woman slammed her into the fridge again, briefly making Clarke pause as the smash hit her head and rendered her momentarily dizzy. “The fuck is your problem?” she demanded.

“She’s crazed Anya,” Tristan breathed from behind her. Clarke heard his voice and the fire flooded her veins again. She tried to break out with renewed vigour, and _finally_ she managed to push Anya away so was free from her grip. Clarke stumbled forward at the sudden loss of weight, but then her eyes snapped up to Tristan’s and she snarled again and jumped from him.

But arms wrapped around her waist before she could. She felt herself being dragged back, and just as she was preparing to attempt to throw Anya’s hold off her the arms moved off her waist and instead hooked her elbows so she couldn’t move. Clarke bucked in her grip, thrashing wildly but finding no give. Eventually her body finally slacked and she slumped into Anya’s grip, her stare not moving from Tristan, her teeth still bared, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the speed of her breaths.

“Alright, you done now Blondie?” Anya muttered into her ear. Clarke was still growling low, the rough sound echoing around the room. But she stayed still. She heard Anya sigh. “Okay, can someone tell me what the fuck I just walked in on?”

“She attacked me.” Tristan instantly said. “I was doing nothing, just sitting here and she just jumped for me.”

Clarke felt Anya tense from behind her. She tried to break out again, but Anya’s hold was iron. “I heard talking. I doubt Blondie here has a voice as deep as yours.”

Her eyes traced Tristan’s throat as he swallowed. She wanted to tear into his neck with her teeth.

“Yeah, so I said some things. I was just asking questions. She’s a mutt we don’t know on our territory, I wanted to know why she hadn’t immediately gone to a pack when she was turned.”

“Did you ask or did you provoke, Tristan?” Anya snapped.

Tristan clenched his fists. But at Anya’s continued drilling stare, Clarke watched as he bowed his head in submission. “She could be a threat to the Commander. I merely wanted to see if she had control. Heda for some reason lets her stay, if she wanted to killed the Commander—“

“She doesn’t even _know_ who Heda is you fuckwit.” Anya cut off. Clarke felt her sharp sigh tickle her neck. “Blondie, if I let you go, you promise not to go for Tristan?”

Clarke’s growl quieted. She seriously considered it. She wasn’t feeling as murderous, but the urge to kill him was still great. Yet she was beginning to come back to herself, and she knew she couldn’t attack him, not here, not on Lexa’s territory. He was also of Lexa’s pack. If she killed him, she had no doubt her death would be the next to follow. She slotted her eyes as she realised that was probably Tristan’s intention.

“I’ll be fine.” Her voice was low and rough. It barely sounded like her at all. Even Tristan looked unnerved, her gaze never once shifting off him.

“Alright. If you’re lying, you’ll regret it.” Anya paused a moment, before slowly and hesitantly she relaxed her grip. She released her and Clarke ripped herself from her hold the second it was loose enough. She glanced to the side of her to Anya, and at her nod she focused back on Tristan. Anya walked past her and towards him. “We have talked about your need to start fires Tristan.”

Before he could say anything Anya grabbed him and threw him into the wall. He dropped to the floor on his knees, grunting from the impact that cracked the plaster, but when Anya stormed up to him his head snapped up and he titled his neck.

Anya watched him for a heavy beat. He kept the submissive display, and eventually it seemed to prove enough. Anya roughly grasped his arm and jerked him to his feet. “Pull shit like this again and I’ll beat you bloody, understand?” she snarled, and Tristan clenched his jaw, but nodded.

 _“Sha Onya_.”

Anya stared at him for a second more before you pushed him forward. “Get out of here then.”

Clarke still stood near the fridge, and as he stumbled for the door he paused, their eyes meeting. Her lip pulled back in a silent snarl and he hastily lunged for the door and staggered out. The door slammed close.

She hadn’t realised she had been growling the entire time until it finally died off once Tristan was out of sight. Her shoulders lost some of their coiled tension. The only other werewolf in the room looked to her then, and Clarke could tell that while Anya had come to her aid, it was more accident than anything. She turned her head and locked sights with her. She swallowed at the frustrated anger she could still see burning in her eyes. She marched forward but Clarke kept her feet planted.

Anya stopped when she was just a breath away from her. Her eyes flicked between her own. Clarke didn’t know what she was searching for, but whatever it was she must have found it, because all of her sudden her shoulders slacked and she stepped back so she wasn’t so imposing into her personal space. The air felt less suffocating, and in response Clarke relaxed a little too.

“Lexa told me you were bitten. That you know nothing of how we act, the rules we all must follow.” Anya kept staring at her, but the longer she looked the more Clarke couldn’t understand why there was such sadness on her face. A strange amount of understanding. “I know it can be difficult to adjust to such a change… being bitten can destroy everything. But that doesn’t mean life has to stop. You can make something out of it. A home. A family.”

Clarke stayed silent, watching Anya closely as she took a step forward.

Her face hardened. “This is the family I’ve made. My pack. And the only reason that I will let you walk away right now after threatening my own was because it was not entirely unfounded, and you have no idea what world you’ve walked into. But.” Anya drew herself up. “This is your only warning. You attack my family again, and I’ll kill you myself. Do you understand?”

Clarke blinked when she realised how familiar that statement sounded. “Yes,” she answered, because she _did_ understand, as it was nearly the exact same threat she had issued to Indra and Lexa in defence of Raven.

Anya stared at her a beat before nodding. “Good.” She sighed then, looking around the kitchen. “I’ll leave you to it then. Lexa sent me to check on you when you were taking too long. I’m guessing you came here for food and… Tristan happened.”

Clarke glanced to her sandwich behind her. The knife was still embedded into the counter standing next to the plate. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Anya nodded again. She made a move to go past her and Clarke stepped out the way, but just as she’d made it to the door her hand was hovering over the handle. She bit her lip, her eyes glimpsing behind her to Clarke.

“Next time Blondie, when it’s not your territory—never be the one to throw the first fist. Be the one to throw the second. Because, well, if _they_ start it, then it’s self-defence isn’t it?”

Clarke’s felt her lips twitch, but Anya was already opening the door and striding out.

Her back slumped into the fridge the moment the door drew close. Anya’s advice was amusing and oddly helpful, but now she was remembering all that had transpired just then, specifically the things had Tristan had said and tried to provoke her with. He’d succeeded, clearly, but it didn’t stop her from squeezing her eyes shut and trying to steady her breathing as it threatened to fall out of control. It had been three years since she’d killed him. But she still feels it like it happened yesterday.

She only just bit back her sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> initially i had a lot more planned for this chapter but then i went and overwrote..again. hope you guys liked it, im a little worried it could feel like an info dump and im hoping yous dont feel too overwhelmed. but anyway, thank you for reading. wish you all a good one. 
> 
> (also if any a you watch bitten, Lexa’s house is kinda like stonehaven in that) (and dont worry, things will be beginning to pick up from here on.. itll be a fun ride.)


	5. I Never Said It Was Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke: *sees lexa* okay just be cool  
> also clarke: *intense bi panic* *sirens going off* *explosions, in the distance—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes, a lovely and concise 31k words. perfect.  
> sorry for the delay on this one, my brain decided to be a cunt and it's been a shit few months for me. got there in the end though, so enjoy two chapters for the price of one, as once again my planning skills are consistently fucking abysmal. also i apologise if the quality dips in and out. really it's a fucking miracle i even wrote this at all.  
> (for that Full Immersion listen to: Rhineland (Heartland) by Beirut) (also i havent scoped this shit fest of a chapter out for typos yet, so if typos are something that make you wanna smash your head in, kindly point them out and ill fix them for you)

Clarke switched from channel to channel as she flicked through them mindlessly on the TV.

She was lying on the couch, a plate with a thick half-eaten sandwich resting on her stomach as she tried and failed to get her mind to focus on something else. She’d gotten home an hour ago, and though initially she tried to do some drawing she found she was out of creativity, so instead she’d opted to just eat and watch whatever show was on. Maybe she’d open up Netflix and settle for some movie.

It was stupid, really. Tristan had only been trying to get a rise out of her—which he’d managed, she had to begrudgingly admit—but still here she was feeling affected when she shouldn’t. She didn’t want to deal with turmoil beneath her ribs however, so she simply put on Netflix and chose something light-hearted, something that didn’t bring up memories of torn up houses, red floors, that feeling of being _covered_ in blood.

She was surprisingly engulfed into the episode of _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ she was watching when she caught the jingling sound of keys being pushed into the door lock. Clarke sat up, her eyes already drawing to the door and her shoulders rising, when the door was finally pushed open and it was only Raven coming through. She was about to lie back down when she frowned, practically being able to smell Raven’s distress.

Clarke paused her show. “Raven?” she called, setting the plate to the side and sliding up to her feet. “What’s up?”

Raven shook her jacket off and hung on the coat rack. “Nothing.” She muttered, dropping her bag unceremoniously and kicking off her boots. She sighed and walked right past Clarke’s still form, making a beeline for the fridge. “We have beer?”

“Yeah,” Clarke answered. She hesitated a moment before shuffling over and reaching over Raven’s head, grabbing the beer bottle hidden up on the top shelf. She handed it to Raven, getting a grunt that was probably some form of thanks, and just as Clarke was going to question her further Raven was already moving. She stood there, her brow furrowing further as she watched Raven slump down onto the couch, taking a long enough swig that Clarke briefly wondered if she’d down it all in one go.

Raven picked up the remote and restarted the show, but Clarke came over and took it out of her hands. She paused it again.

“Raven.” She pulled the remote out of reach when she tried to reach for it, getting her an eye roll that Clarke deftly ignored. “What’s going on with you?”

“ _Nothing_ Clarke, like I said before. Now quit being an ass and give me the remote. I want TV.”

Clarke exhaled sharply through her nose. “Talk to me.”

Raven raised a brow. “We _are_ talking, but you know what I’d _much_ rather be doing?”

But Clarke wasn’t having any of it. “Did something happen?” she pressed, earning her another eye roll. “Come on Rae,” she tried again, and this time Raven narrowed her eyes at her. They stared at each other for a heavy beat. It ended with Raven sighing and taking another sip of her beer.

“It’s nothing,” she eventually murmured, and her voice was soft now. Clarke quietly sat down next to her, mindful to keep some small bit of space between them.

“What’s nothing?” Clarke asked, persistent, knowing that getting Raven to be anything near the definition of vulnerable to be like squeezing blood out of stone.

Raven picked at the label on the beer bottle. The silence dragged on, until finally she huffed and took another drink. “I had the interview today.” She admitted, only to immediately scowl. “And I fucked it.”

Clarke let out a slow exhale. “Raven…”

She looked up to her with a scowl. “Don’t ‘ _Raven_ ’ me. I’m not five years old.”

“I know that.” Clarke said softly. Raven scoffed and looked away again, but Clarke saw how the tension that had been steadily rising in her shoulders relaxed slightly, a gentle easing. “What happened?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” Clarke smiled slightly. “It kinda does.”

Raven glared at her. “I just fucked it, okay?”

“How?”

Raven’s fingers gripped the neck of the bottle. “There’s no how, I just did.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Clarke pushed.

“I don’t know alright, I just _know_ that I did. Just leave it, Clarke.” Raven sighed, but Clarke shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Did they tell you, you didn’t get it?”

“No but—“

Clarke cut her off. “So how do you know?”

“I just did, will you fucking leave it?”

“How?”

Raven slammed the bottle down. “I don’t fucking know!” she snapped, glaring at Clarke with bared teeth. She was breathing hard, but Clarke didn’t flinch from the outburst, instead feeling the opposite even. Raven seemed to realise what Clarke had backed her up into because she blinked suddenly, letting out a shaky breath and a running her hands through her hair. “I don’t know.” She repeated, but she was quieter now, an ache and defeat in her voice.

Raven was pretty much confidence personified in nearly everything she did. She was a fighter, always had been, in the thick it and ever-assured in her knowledge and capabilities. She had been a terror for teachers when they were kids and really she was still a terror now, except that now as an adult she had better access to explosives. She truly was a remarkably brilliant person, but underneath all that was an insecurity that never saw the light of day except in very rare times. Her mother had been someone who’d loved the bottle more than her, and so came this intense need to prove herself, to be better than and above.

“Hey,” Clarke kept her voice soft and gentle, shuffling the slightest bit closer but restraining herself from reaching out. “I know this is big Raven, I get that. This could be everything, you know?”

Raven slowly looked up at her.

Clarke smiled. “But you can’t give up before you’ve even begun. You’ve done all you can. It’s out of your hands. It’ll work out like it always does, and no matter the outcome, whether you get it or not, you will persevere for the other end. Have a little a faith in yourself.”

Raven swallowed thickly. “This is one of the reasons why we even moved here Clarke. We only came to Polis because it was near an ALIE facility, and if I don’t get it—“

“We _also_ came for the forest, it’s distance to major cities, and the low population. It was not the only reason. Quit being an idiot with that.”

Raven scowled at her. “Don’t get snarky with me.”

Clarke’s smile widened. “Take that away and what else would I be?”

Raven rolled her eyes and shoved her playfully. Clarke faked a wince, pretending like the blow was heavy and forced her back. “Ass,” Raven shot at her, but it only made Clarke laugh. She sat up again, both of them watching each other before Raven seemed to give in. “Okay fine, you can have the hug that you’ve been _clearly_ hoping for this entire conversation.”

“You’re pretty egoistical to assume that.” Clarke remarked, but in contradiction to her words she did come forward and met Raven in a hug. At first Raven was stiff and her grip was lose, but when Clarke held her tighter in some wordless communication that she _was_ there, and she would hold her, she slowly felt her relax. “You’ll be alright.” She whispered. Raven’s sigh was shaky.

She even tried letting out the low, soft rumble in an effort to help calm her, and was entirely unsurprised when she felt Raven smirk into her shoulder.

“Are you purring?” Raven muttered, her words slightly muffled.

Clarke huffed. “Not a purr.”

“Sounds like a purr. _Feels_ like a purr…”

“Not a cat, Raven.”

Raven laughed quietly into her shirt. “No, you’re a big bad werewolf. Who purrs.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, even if Raven couldn’t see. She figured she could sense it. “It’s more a growl anyway.” She grumbled, and Raven’s smirk grew.

“Tomayto, tomahto.”

They didn’t talk much after that. Clarke let Raven hold on to her for as long as she needed, until reality seemed to catch up and she hastily pulled herself away. Clarke had known Raven a while though and didn’t stop her, and instead of dawdling on her moment of weakness which Raven would most definitely murder her for, Clarke just went on throughout their usual nightly routine as if nothing had happened.

Not completely, because her words were still softer than they usually were and she trailed a little closer to her, watched Raven more than the show when they put one on. She tried a few futile endeavours in getting her to open up again, but it was clear the window was gone.

She knew she wasn’t going to get her to talk again, so she figured she should mention what had passed at Lexa’s house. She was fast to relay what happened when she’d met Lexa’s pack, and though she avoided speaking about the altercation with Tristan, it felt oddly relieving talking about it with Raven. Raven herself seemed eager anyway with the topic, especially since she was almost instantly questioning every little detail Clarke relayed, clearly interested in how werewolves had evolved into organising themselves.

It was quiet when finally it was decided that the day had dragged on long enough. Clarke dried the dishes while Raven washed, as while she enjoyed cooking she despised _actually_ cleaning, and while Raven tolerated it only a little more than her it was enough for her to draw the short straw.

Clarke offered one last reassurance just before they went to their respective rooms. It earned her another glare and scowl, unsurprisingly, but Clarke knew that while Raven may have cursed her off her voice didn’t hold the bite it should. So Clarke merely took it with an eye roll and didn’t rise to the bait.

When she went to bed she had almost completely forgotten what happened with Tristan, the memories he had purposefully trudged up.

But then she woke up at four in the morning with a gasp, her body drenched with sweat and heart pounding, and Clarke realised she hadn’t forgotten at all.

-

Raven was practically bouncing as she dragged Clarke along the pavement.

“Jesus Rae are you _trying_ to rip my arm out of my socket?” Clarke grouched, pulling her wrist out of her grip only for Raven to huff and grab it again.

“We haven’t gone out in ages Clarke,” Raven scolded, “lighten up will you? _I_ just got my dream job, and you bet your ass we’re getting wasted to celebrate.”

Something in Clarke’s face softened, though she still glared at her. “Werewolf, Raven. Unless you want me to down three bottles of vodka like water—“

“—not the worst idea, actually—“

“—which I _won’t_ be doing, it is _you_ who will be getting smashed. Plus, I need to get you home alright.”

Raven huffed. “Will you quit being a mama hen for one second?”

“Raven if I were to do that you would go do something so incredibly stupid that I’d have to clean up after you anyway.”

She shot her a grin. “You’re not wrong.”

Raven enjoyed Clarke’s scowl.

It turned out that her stressing had been in vain. She was still in disbelief about it truly, but it had gone through. She had gotten it. It didn’t feel real yet, but it _was_ , it really was, and Raven would be damned if she wasn’t going to celebrate the ever-loving fuck out of this. Of course, convincing Clarke to go out was a nuisance as usual. Luckily it seemed Clarke was feeling soft for once, and Raven knew that _she_ knew just how much this meant. So Clarke had caved and stalked off to her wardrobe to go look presentable.

Raven was near vibrating with her excited energy. She felt like she could dive into the earth itself and crush its core with her bare hands. They queued up and Raven threw a playful salute to the bouncer, whose lips twitched, nodding to them and letting them through. She had been here before. More than once. They knew she was local.

Polis’ nightclub was surprisingly formidable. It attracted a lot of out of town guests, and Raven loved it. It was satisfyingly easy to find someone to tug along home whenever she came here, as was her plan. Get drunk and have great sex. A wonderful way to celebrate.

The moment they were in she was hit with a wave of alcohol and sweat. It was strong even for her, and when she glanced to the side at Clarke she saw her nose scrunch. No doubt that it was worse for a werewolf nose. Raven smirked and looked back into the club. It was large, a dance floor packed with bodies so thickly they were almost their own combined mass, lavender purple lights streaking across the roof and splashing down onto a sleek looking black bar off to the far right.

She was about to drag Clarke over to the bar when something made her freeze.

Not something, actually. Some _one_.

Raven smiled wide. Oh _hell_ yes. It looked like whatever higher ups were feeling kind enough to offer her a second chance, because she was seeing _just_ what she needed right now. She suddenly turned around and faced Clarke.

“Alright Griffin. Go get a drink or something, because mama is about to set this bitch ablaze.”

Clarke raised a brow. “Just what are you on about, Raven?”

But Raven shook her head at her, bringing both arms up and clasping Clarke’s shoulders so she had to look her in the eye. “I’m sorry Clarke,” she spoke gravelly, as if she was preparing to send her off to war. “But I simply cannot waste such an opportunity.”

“Raven what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Getting laid, something which I assumed you wouldn’t understand.” She pulled her arms away and ducked out just in time to avoid Clarke’s swat. Though realistically, Raven knew that Clarke probably just let her dodge. “Alas wolfie, you’ll have to fend for yourself. I have a woman to woo.”

Clarke didn’t look pleased, but she let her be, rolling her eyes and sighing. “I already feel sorry for her.”

Raven scowled this time and playfully slapped Clarke’s arm. “Excuse you. My charm is a privilege.”

She caught Clarke’s cocked eyebrow, something that really shouldn’t feel as intimidating as it did, glaring at her and walking off. She had seen her somewhere at the left, leaning against a wall and looking entirely disinterested with her surroundings. And that was how Raven found her again too. A drink in her hand, coloured a dark red, eyes flicking over the scene around her with that attentive gaze that Raven had seen once and had never forgotten.

She grinned and sauntered up to her, casually letting her back fall into the wall in the space next to her. The woman looked to her, raised her brow, but then something like a sly smile spread of her lips. Very kissable lips, might she add.

“Queue girl.” She greeted, and though her tone was dry and honestly a little mocking Raven couldn’t help but perk up at the knowledge that she’d remembered her even after two weeks.

“We meet again.” Raven smirked, her teeth just peaking through. “Must be a small town.”

“Must be.” The woman retorted, her tone still desert dry. She watched her a moment and sipped her drink.

Raven leaned a little closer. The woman didn’t immediately pull away, or do anything to reject her really, just kept looking at her with that sceptical disinterest. Yet still she didn’t move. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it seems you have me beat.”

At getting no reply, merely that same stare, Raven pushed herself up and offered a hand.

“But I’ll settle for a dance.”

The woman’s lips twitched into a smirk. “I’ll have to pass.”

Now it was Raven who quirked her brow. “Can’t dance, can you?”

She had meant to be teasing, but apparently the woman had a competitive streak because she instantly straightened. “Of course I can. It’s the company I care for, and you,” she gave her a sharp smile, “are not it.”

“Wow, you’re _that_ shit aren’t you?”

Raven had to bite back to her satisfied grin when the woman narrowed her eyes at her and pushed herself off the wall too. “Fine. If you’re so thick headed that I have to prove it, then I will.” She put her glass down on a nearby table. It was nearly finished anyway, it seemed she wasn’t going to come back for it.

She got that stare again from her, the one that felt like a predator’s. But Raven was feeling far too much elation at winning her over to care. “I’m Raven. And what’s your name, cheekbones?”

That earned her a glare burning enough to burn forests.

The woman still answered though, even if it was reluctantly and with snide in her tone. “Anya, a name you will not be having the privilege of speaking again.”

Anya. Well, at least she got her name now.

She held out her hand with a smirk.

“Shall we?”

-

Clarke wasn’t surprised to find herself alone after a whole three seconds.

She held no resentment for it. She knew it was coming before she even agreed to come for this night out—it had played into her reluctance—but she knew her own discomfort was not worth it to jeopardise Raven’s happiness, so she simply sighed and moved on. She wasn’t going to ruin Raven’s big day. She’ll probably reappear again, will at the very least give her notice if she actually _does_ take that woman home that had caught her eye.

“May as well get a drink,” she muttered to herself, her voice getting swallowed up by the noise of the club. Normally her heightened hearing was more an advantage than anything, but here it was near deafening. She grit her teeth and hoped the sound would even out eventually, so it’d feel less like she was kilometres underwater and her ear was going to burst under the pressure. At least the song wasn’t half bad. The steady beat pulsed in her head as she deftly slipped through the crowd.

The bar wasn’t too filled thankfully. She found a free seat and sat herself down, trying a last hopeful glance at the sea of bodies for Raven. But she saw nothing. Just the same nameless faces she didn’t recognise, laughing and grinning in groups she didn’t know.

“Can I get you anything?” the barman from behind asked, and Clarke turned to face him with a sigh. He was young, but there was an age behind his eyes that made him seem older than he probably was. Clarke paused a moment. While it was _difficult_ to get drunk as a werewolf… it wasn’t impossible. And, well, this was a night for celebrating right? She could afford to relax once in a while. Or at the very least try to.

Though considering how these past weeks had been, that would be near impossible.

She could still remember the feeling of sliding the blade in Dante’s throat.

“Whiskey, thanks.” She settled on, and the bartender simply nodded, his crisp black button-up making him look nearly swallowed by the darkness in the club. She pulled out her wallet and paid, offering him a polite smile as he placed the glass in front of her. He was quick to disappear and to attend to next drunken soul vying for his attention.

She took a sip and the burn down her throat was an oddly comforting thing. With all the crazy shit that had gone down recently, this was something normal, at least. And anyway—her definition of pain had changed greatly ever since turning. She still hasn’t yet met anything that outdoes the agony in shifting. Just the thought alone of it made her shudder.

Her thoughts were interrupted with her phone vibrating. She reached into her leather jacket pocket and pulled it out, guilt pressing onto her chest at seeing who it was.

_Caleb: Checked out those spray paints you suggested. Found an odd amount of fun with them. You up for meeting again and giving me a few professional tips and tricks?_

Clarke released a shaky breath and swore quietly. She grabbed her glass and took too hard a swig that had her just barely biting back her cough. Goddamn it. She hadn’t mentioned she’d been the one to kill Dante. She knew that Caleb knew of his death though, he had returned to give those paints he’d bought last time back to her. There had been an immense guilt festering under her ribs and she had blurted how sometimes art can be a way to help express, to give some semblance of cope.

He was doubtful. But he’d eventually conceded. He showed an interest in spray paints, so Clarke got him on that. It was relieving to find that it seemed to have actually proved beneficial and it had helped him.

She texted him back. _Sure. I’m free tomorrow afternoon?_

His response was almost immediate. _See you then_.

She stared at her screen for a few moments without really seeing anything before suddenly she blinked the stinging out of her eyes. She slipped her phone back into her pocket and tried to let herself feel relief. She treaded a strange ground with Caleb. They had been texting on and off, and when she’d brought up Lexa he had been oddly evasive until she’d learnt that he apparently had a great fear of her. He talked of her with words she would never describe Lexa with, but it seemed to mostly be spawned from him suspecting her, or at least one of _her_ pack, being the ones responsible for turning him.

Clarke doubted that. She had told him, more than once, of her doubts, but his fear was too great and he didn’t listen. Yet she felt an odd sense of duty to him, and when he asked her not to say anything of him being here, she begrudgingly agreed—only on the condition that it would not be forever. That he would either, one, move somewhere else _not_ on Lexa’s territory, or two, reveal himself to her and deal with whatever consequences.

For now though he was simply a reflection of her past. Someone with little to no knowledge of what they are, and utterly alone. Except not anymore. Because she may have been fucked over in her past, but she wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to him. She may be only slightly less clueless on the whole werewolf thing than him, but it was something—it was _something_ —and that was all that mattered.

“Never took you for a whiskey girl,” someone from behind her teased, and Clarke spun around with a frown only for a smile to spread instead.

“Niylah?” Clarke’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing here?”

She hadn’t expected at all to see Niylah here. She looked equally surprised—though by the beaming smile on her lips she seemed pleased too—and the hair that she had been so used to seeing done up was loose and flowing. It was gorgeous, and Clarke would be lying to say that it wasn’t enough to turn a couple heads, but there was something within her that seemed to cringe almost at the thought. She didn’t understand it but still it remained: that want for _something_ else. Something she couldn’t name but she knew.

Niylah laughed, sitting herself in the stool next to her. “I think I should be asking _you_ that. I’d never have thought you as the clubbing type.”

Clarke couldn’t help but snort at that. “Should have seen me in college. I was a mess.”

Niylah raised an amused brow. “Oh? Pray tell.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at her. She was relieved though to have someone she recognised. Niylah was sweet, offered her a discount more than once when she didn’t quite have enough. And Clarke needed conversation anyway. “I wasn’t dubbed Party Animal Griffin for nothing, I’ll have you know.” She was briefly met with the memories of countless drunken parties and gatherings. She held a nostalgic smile, but it soon fell. She took another sip of her drink. “Those days are gone now though.”

“Well, I’m sure your liver is relieved at least,” Niylah joked, probably to sneak back in some levity into the sudden dip on mood. Clarke chuckled, but it was more out of politeness than anything. There was no point in dragging Niylah down with her. She was meant to be having fun tonight anyway. “So,” Niylah started, drawing Clarke out of her thoughts. “Why _are_ you here?”

“Raven,” Clarke easily answered. She was unable to tame her excited grin. “She finally landed her dream job. We’re celebrating.”

Niylah smiled. “The one at ALIE?” she checked. Clarke tilted her head.

“Yeah, how do you know?”

But Niylah just laughed. “I listen when you talk.” She replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clarke had the decency to blush slightly.

“Sorry, just tell me to shut up next time if I keep going on and on—“

“Oh no, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean—“ Niylah took a breath. “I listen because I want to. I… like listening to you. To you talk.”

Clarke smiled. “You’re a good friend Niylah.” She said softly, and she meant it. She kept herself as closed off as possible after what happened three years ago but it is inevitable, the accidental forming’s of attachments and friendships. Humans are social creatures, wolves even _more_ so. It is impossible to escape. “I’m glad I met you.”

She found it odd how Niylah seem to both deflate and brighten at the same time. It was a strange contradiction, the smile that was given to her. How it both was beaming but subdued, warm but weak. “Me too.” She answered back. She pulled in a shaky breath. “Me too.”

Before Clarke could ask what was wrong, attempt to decipher at whatever had happened the look was gone with the swiftness of a gust of a wind. Niylah flagged down the bartender and ordered something for herself.

“Bloody Mary?” Clarke asked with a raised brow, as the drink was placed in front of her.

Niylah shrugged. “I like the spice.”

Clarke couldn’t fault on her on that, but still she eyed the drink with slight unease. It wasn’t called a _Bloody_ Mary for nothing. And the sight of blood Clarke knew would now forever be an unnerving one. The full moon was two weeks away. Just far enough to give her the illusion that she could be normal—and just close enough to make her count the days under her breath.

They talked for a while. It was difficult at times and it really wasn’t the most ideal place for conversation. Sometimes the swell of the music stole the words from the air and other times they got lost in the fray of the innumerable others. Clarke had had to shuffle a little closer more than once, and whenever she did Niylah seemed to falter on her words and she’d get that look again. But then it would pass, and she would go on like nothing happened.

It was nice to talk to someone new. Someone who didn’t know her past but instead had to be informed, where she’d be granted the privilege of only mentioning certain details and skimming over the rest. It was easy. She had just finished retelling a story from the aforementioned party days, mainly one of the _many_ drunken dares she had partaken in because apparently she was even more stubborn and competitive drunk, her whiskey nearly finished.

Niylah was done with hers and had gotten something else, and Clarke could tell she was getting tipsy. Her eyes were becoming less focused, her smile was more lazy, and while Clarke laughed at how increasingly affectionate she was being with leaning against her or touching her hand with her laughter, she couldn’t help the tendrils of envy that swirled uncomfortably in her gut. She could feel the alcohol in her blood, just barely, but it certainly wasn’t enough to get rid of the tightness in her chest that never seemed to leave.

Clarke took a last drink of the whiskey, finishing it off. It burned down her throat and she held in her cough. Maybe she should get something solely for taste next time. That’d be better. Perhaps some crazy concoction that’s more an experiment than anything.

“Wow, you really weren’t lying about being a party animal,” Niylah chuckled. Clarke hummed.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Clarke nearly heard Niylah’s swallow then. “I’d like to.” She practically whispered, and Clarke truly thought if she were human she probably wouldn’t have caught it. Before she could comment on it Niylah was continuing like it had never been. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter? We could shout less then.”

Clarke sighed. “I’d need to find Raven first. It’s her night after all, I can’t ditch her without at least giving her some warning.” Her brow furrowed slightly as she looked out onto the dancing crowd. “You reckon it’d be wishful thinking to say she’d check her phone?”

Niylah smirked. “Probably.”

Clarke glared at the sea of bodies as if Raven could see. “Every time Raven,” she muttered. “Every time.”

Niylah shifted on her stool. “So, is that a yes?”

Clarke turned to her. She opened her mouth, ready to agree as honestly she was starting to grow a headache with the constant pulse of sound when a scent passed by her that made her freeze. Her head snapped around and she immediately straightened in her seat, ignoring Niylah’s confused call of her name and squinting her eyes through the crowd. She sniffed the air again but there was nothing now. Just the same smell of sweat and alcohol.

But she could have sworn she’d smelt it. The scent she could never quite get rid of.

Woodchips and pine.

“Clarke?” Niylah tried again, but still Clarke looked out into the club, eyes flicking around yet finding nothing. She ignored how her heart was already beating a little faster just with the thought alone that perhaps _she_ was here. It didn’t make sense though. What the hell would _Lexa_ be doing in a club? It was the opposite of her scene. She was probably just more tired than she’d first thought.

“Sorry,” Clarke shook her head, reluctantly tearing her gaze away and focusing back on Niylah who was watching her with nervous concern. She cleared her throat. “Thought I saw Raven.” She lied, but Niylah seemed to believe her.

“All good.” Niylah ran her fingertips along the rim of her glass. “Would you like to get out of here then?”

Clarke hesitated this time. She was so sure she had caught Lexa’s scent. What if she was here? Not that it mattered, or changed anything, because it didn’t. Not at all. She just had to be sure. She still wasn’t quite comfortable with the idea of Raven alone with other werewolves, considering Indra’s reaction from the forest. It was for Raven. She was concerned for Raven.

She couldn’t stop herself from pulling in another take of the air.

Her eyes widened this time. There. Woodchips and pine, exactly like—

“Clarke.” Lexa spoke from behind.

Clarke jumped and she cursed herself internally. It didn’t help that Lexa noticed and cocked a brow. Really, Clarke was already preparing herself for a lengthy retort when her brain short-circuited at seeing Lexa in attire she had never seen her wear before. Nothing formal, nothing athletic and designed for the training they’d been staring to get into, but something that revealed the tattoo at her arm and the curves at her sides. Her top was sleeveless and Clarke could see every line of muscle despite the dimmed light.

_Ohfuckohfuckohfuck._

Somehow this felt worse than accidently seeing Lexa stripping.

“Lexa,” she finally managed to breathe, and she really hadn’t meant to sound so utterly reverent, giving away just how much the presence of Lexa being here felt like an oasis in a desert. She swallowed so hard it actually hurt. “Hey.” She croaked, and god she _hated_ it. She hated easily breathless she became.

Lexa’s face seemed to be tighter than usual, but at her words something unnameable softened. Despite the darkened light her eyes glittered like they could hold whole universes. “Hey,” Lexa replied, and her voice echoed that softness.

Clarke was half convinced she’d somehow fallen into a fever dream, but a clearing of a throat from beside her made her realise that this was, in fact, very real—and that she wasn’t alone.

Niylah looked between the two of them with raised brows. “And whose this?” she asked. She spoke with a tone Clarke had never heard from her. It tiptoed at the edge of sharp.

Which made it even _more_ strange when Clarke glanced to Lexa and saw that same sharpness there too, but hers seemed darker, a flick in her jaw that warned of dangerous things to come. “Sorry. Uh, Niylah, this is Lexa my—“ Clarke paused suddenly, and Lexa’s icy glare shifted to meet her gaze once more, softening within a blink.

What was Lexa? She supposed she was a friend, but that word felt far too tiny for something as indescribable as _Lexa_. There was nothing that could relay what Lexa was. A mentor, a saviour, a teacher? The only person she knew of who had the ability to calm the monster that lurked within her?

“She’s my friend.” Clarke eventually settled. The word tasted wrong in her mouth. “She just moved here.”

Niylah and Lexa met stares again. Clarke watched Lexa though, the tightness that drew her shoulders, the scent of danger in the air. She was convinced if she reached a hand out between them she’d get burned.

“I suppose that explains why I’ve never seen you before.” Niylah muttered.

Lexa said nothing. She narrowed her eyes at her before facing Clarke once more.

“Clarke, I need to speak with you.” Her hands were held behind her back, and despite her showy top and smoky eyes, she looked like a warrior more than anything to Clarke. Then again, perhaps that was just because Lexa _always_ looked like one. Except for those rare moments when that stoic mask slipped.

Clarke got off her stool. Lexa stepped back to make way for her, and she was surprised to see something like victory in her dark eyes, a satisfaction that felt far too great considering the situation. Niylah blinked at her and only then did Clarke realise that she’d left Niylah hanging on her question. Well, at least she could answer now.

“It was good talking with you Niylah, I’ll see you when I see you yeah?” she offered, and though Niylah shot another glare at Lexa—to which Lexa quirked a brow—her lips pulled into a weak smile and she nodded at her.

“Sure. It was good talking with you too. I’ll save a roll for you on the house,” she winked, getting to her feet and briefly squeezing Clarke’s wrist in goodbye before walking away. Lexa’s dark glare followed her until she disappeared into the throng of the crowd.

Clarke waited till Lexa met her eyes again before shaking her head at her. “You know what, I’m not even going to ask.” She muttered. She waved a hand in defeat. “I’ll assume your uncalled for attitude was a werewolf thing.”

Lexa’s teeth just peaked through with her smirk.

It was a little too wolfish.

-

Lexa hadn’t planned to go out.

It wasn’t really her thing. But Anya was stubborn and bored—a truly terrible combination Lexa had learnt over the years—and after days of no progress on Cage’s whereabouts and why the hell he would betray his own father to such a degree, why _Dante_ was even so far out from his territory, Anya had huffed and thrown up her arms.

“If I spend another minute longer staring at this goddamn map I’m going to _burn_ this entire fucking house to the ground.” Anya growled with a roughness that made both her and Indra stiffen. It was only the three of them in the room today.

“Is there ever a moment where you can be reasonable, Anya?” Indra muttered, glaring daggers at her.

But Anya just stared right back at her. “A. Single. Minute.”

“Fine.” Lexa sighed. “We will continue this another day. Go Indra, I know you have someplace to be.”

Indra only hesitated a beat before bowing her head and slipping out. Lexa should have known right then that she wasn’t going to like what Anya was going to say. The smile that she had grown should have been the largest warning sign.

“I know what we can do.” She had grinned, and Lexa, being the utter fool she was, had taken the bait.

“And that is?”

“There’s a club in town. Let’s go check it out.”

“You want to go a _club_?”

Anya had rolled her eyes. “Take that stick out of your ass, Lexa. I can see it when you open your mouth.”

It had gone downhill from there.

It took a lot of arguing and a somewhat physical fight until Lexa finally conceded. Because while she really didn’t see the appeal in going, _at all_ , she could agree that she was tired of staring at the same empty map with an ache behind her eyes and her jaw pulsing from how hard she would clench it. She felt like she had more questions than answers right now, but she knew that doing nothing but go over the same facts and same theories would just be wasted time. Maybe she could use a break anyway. At the very least, if it goes completely south, she can indulge herself for a run through the woods when she gets back home.

At the start it had been pretty unmemorable. Anya only lingered by her side for a few minutes before drifting off, probably in search for someone to bring back to bed. Anya didn’t have particularly high opinions of humans, but she wasn’t like Indra and some of others in their reluctance to interact with them. Lexa supposed she should at least _attempt_ to enjoy herself.

And initially, she had surprisingly. She drifted around, watched the people with an attentive gaze. It was endlessly fascinating to see so many lives and lifetimes sardine packed into such a confined space. She even managed to strike up a conversation or two—reluctantly, might she add—but she was quick to cut it off when she could practically _smell_ the other person’s intent with her. It wasn’t very appealing. The reason for that which she deftly ignored.

But then she’d seen them. Had seen _her_. She looked incredible too; just enough to make every trace of moisture dry in her throat. But Clarke wasn’t alone, no, she was the opposite. She was talking with someone else, a very _interested_ someone else, and even if Lexa was tucked away enough that she couldn’t smell her she didn’t need to, to know her intentions with Clarke.

She didn’t have the right to feel that tightening in her chest. She refused to name it, but she knew damn well what it was. It seemed to be more subconscious than anything when she found her feet going towards her before she could stop herself. She only came back in time to quickly disappear back into the crowd but apparently she hadn’t been as subtle as she hoped—she saw Clarke freeze and straighten in her seat, scanning the crowd with squinted eyes.

Now, she supposed that to go there without reason would be a step too far, especially for her. Clarke was free to befriend and, more than befriend, whoever she wished. But well, if Lexa actually had a _reason_ to go over—and interrupt—then that could be acceptable, right?

When Niylah smiled widely at Clarke Lexa had her decision made.

Lexa led her just outside at the back of the nightclub. She needed something quiet after the oppressive sound for so long. She didn’t seem to be the only one relieved either, as she noticed the tension that bled from Clarke’s back at the lower in sound. They weren’t far enough to have complete silence, but now it was a muffled thump behind the painted brick walls.

“You going to tell me why you of all people are at a club?” Clarke asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Lexa sighed. “Anya.” She muttered with an impressive amount of disdain. It only seemed to make Clarke smile.

“I see.” They watched each other for a few moments, and Lexa swallowed at how Clarke’s scent was so much clearer out in the open air. The stars dotted the sky but they had nothing on the beauty in front of her, the only light coming from a blinking street lamp a few metres away. “So, what did you need to speak about?”

Lexa stared at her for another beat, indulging herself to the sight of her before answering. “The full moon is in two weeks.” She stated, and she wasn’t too surprised to see the smile slip from Clarke’s face and her shoulders rise.

“And what of it?”

Lexa swallowed then, shifting on her feet slightly. She shouldn’t feel nervous about this. “I wanted to invite you to running with the pack and I for it.” She attempted to keep her voice as impassive as possible. To not give away how much she had be struggling with this offer, a hell of a lot more than she should, for the past week.

Clarke blinked at her. Her mouth opened then closed, and her arms crossed tighter over her chest until she pulled them away with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. “R-Running?” she repeated, and there was a quiver in her voice that made Lexa’s brow twitch. She expected many things in Clarke’s reaction. Anger, confusion, fear. Past experience displayed Clarke’s extreme reluctance on turning.

And yes, there _was_ fear in her voice, a hell of a lot of it. But there was also this conflicted warmth, this flicker of hope, of something that neither really quite understood but at the same time did. Lexa even mildly suspected that it was perhaps Clarke’s wolf within her. Which—if it was—could mean many things, perhaps even…

“Yes. It is when we would all meet for the moon, and when we’d shift it would be together.” Lexa felt her words slightly redundant, but it seemed better than the tense silence so thick she was at the verge of choking. “You have been alone for your turnings but… they do not have to be so painful, if you’re not alone.”

Clarke averted her gaze. She grabbed her own wrist, squeezed it before letting go and digging them into her pockets. Lexa suspected it was to stop herself from fiddling. “I can’t, Lexa.”

Lexa ignored the drop in stomach. She kept her features unreadable, but with the way that Clarke cautiously glanced at her out of the corner of eye, the way her own face seemed to draw in its pain, Lexa thought she didn’t do enough of a job. But she wasn’t a child; she was Heda. She merely swallowed the blockage in her throat and kept her voice steadier than it felt.

“It could aid you.” She tried softly. Clarke looked away again. Clenched her jaw hard enough her neck strained.

“I can’t.” Clarke said again, but it came out chocked. Lexa was confused. She didn’t understand her utter refusal at anything to do with her shifting. Then again, Lexa had never met someone who’d been bitten and then left alone for so long. Perhaps it simply had more lasting damage than she had first realised.

It only increased the longing in her chest though. “Okay. There are still two weeks. If you do change your mind, come to the house just before moonrise. We walk out to the woods as one.”

Clarke didn’t say anything this time. “Alright.” She whispered, but Lexa already knew from her tone alone that she would not change her mind. There was too much resign, too much just plain knowledge—she wouldn’t come. She wouldn’t.

Lexa tried to shove away the disappointment that wanted to drag her bones. Clarke didn’t know the magnitude of what she offered, the countless meanings and connotations that came with it. The worse being that Lexa hasn’t ran with her pack in a long time. Not since Costia died. Perhaps now and again, just enough to assert her dominance, but nothing more. This was the fist time in a long time that she actually _wanted_ it.

She wanted to run. Wanted to blitz through the trees with her fur and pack at her side, so tightly coordinated they were practically one entity. And she wanted Clarke there. She wanted her to _know_ of what she could have, what being a werewolf could mean—because yes, she knew that there was much darkness and pain that came with wolves. But there was more, _so_ much more than Clarke knew. Lexa wanted to be the one to show her that.

But when Clarke finally lifted her gaze again and they locked eyes, Lexa did not bother to argue with her. Instead she just nodded stiffly. Pulled in a breath that she told herself didn’t shake. “Okay.” She said, and she left it at that. To force Clarke would defeat the entire purpose. She had to come to it on her own decision, only then could progress be made.

It was beginning to grow slightly cold in the outside. Still they didn’t move, as it seemed both of them were reluctant to break their shared recluse outside. The silence came again between them, but it was different. It still held tension, but it was warmer, softer, Clarke’s eyes flicked over Lexa as if she was burning her image into her mind and Lexa couldn’t help but do the same.

She was about to say something. She figured she should step away now, not let whatever was spawning between them grow any further. But then suddenly Clarke stiffened and perked up where she stood. Lexa’s first thought was a threat and shifted her stance, hastily glancing out to search for whatever dangers.

But Clarke saw and laughed gently. “It’s fine, there’s no one here.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “Then why…?”

Clarke looked to the side of her. She stared at the door back into the club, and Lexa was surprised and mesmerised to see a smile grow slowly on Clarke’s lips. “I love this song.” She grinned.

Lexa paused, now looking to the club too. She caught the muffled sound, the steady thump of bass, unintelligible but gorgeously harmonic singing flowing with the beat. She supposed it was quite nice, and let herself for a moment admire it.

Except it seemed that Clarke had other plans.

“Come on,” she breathed, and there was excitement and a sparkle in those blues eyes that Lexa had yet to know, and suddenly realised that she was utterly powerless to resist. “Let’s dance.”

“ _Dance_?” Lexa repeated, feeling Clarke’s hand wrap around her wrist with ease and tug her towards the door. She pushed it open and the previously muffled sounds became sharp and overwhelming. Clarke pulled her along and Lexa would have broken free of her grip, except the feeling of Clarke’s hands on hers was making it very difficult to think. They were so much softer than she’d thought. Warmer too.

Clarke looked over her shoulder to her, if only to give a smirk. “What? You can lead packs and take down rivals, but you can’t dance?”

“I can dance, Clarke.” Lexa deadpanned her with a glare. It only seemed to fuel Clarke’s excitement more however.

“Then you’ve no reason not to.”

She pulled her into the swell of the crowd. It felt more like being swallowed by the ocean. But Clarke’s grip was gentle yet firm on hers, she guided her with an ease that was impossible not to get enticed with, pulling them far enough in until they became just another faceless mass within the crowd. They became no ones, and Lexa thought perhaps that was Clarke’s intention.

Surrounded by so many, they were nothing here. They were like every other. Lexa could feel the pulse of the music vibrate through her body, and she for once let herself get absorbed with it. She watched with avid captivation as Clarke freed her from her grip if only so she could take in the thrall of the beat as well, let it enter her being and flow in her movements. Lexa wasn’t actually that much of a dancer, but there was always an odd bridge between the art of fighting and dance.

Clarke was easy to follow anyway. Her smile grew in the dim lighting, it curled into something more tempting than Lexa had seen in a long while. They danced around each other, sometimes with, sometimes inching that step that was probably considered too close. They backed away and they fell in. Lexa let herself get engulfed, her eyes never once shifting from Clarke, and feeling a fire in her blood at seeing Clarke doing the same. Sometimes their hands grazed each other and it was like electric currents on her skin. She even came up behind her at one point briefly, allowed herself the selfish desire to press against her.

Lexa drowned happily in Clarke’s touch.

-

The song eventually ended though. Clarke would have been content to stay wrapped up in the moment for eternity, but when the song was gone, so left that sudden openness between them. Clarke was breathing a little hard and she knew it wasn’t because of dancing. Lexa’s proximity was driving her completely insane. She had never felt so reckless until this moment, where she would sell her soul without blinking if only to trap Lexa here for another beat.

But Lexa’s smile slowly faded, and even if her pupils were wider than Clarke had ever seen, she stepped back.

The music still pulsed around them, but Lexa merely gave her one last look, her hand leaving from where it had somehow crept to Clarke’s waist. She pulled back. Clarke had no idea how Lexa managed it. To walk away from what felt like the air itself was charged with electricity—but she did.

Clarke saw her lips move to say something but she couldn’t make it out. They were too deeply entrenched within the crowd and music to know. Lexa must have realised, because she clenched her jaw, gave her that same jerky nod, and disappeared into the depths of the numerous bodies as if she hadn’t been pressed up against her a second before.

Clarke stood in an off sense of time before she finally managed to come back to herself. She pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring the many curses and scowls she got. But when she was free again she couldn’t see Lexa. She stood there, glancing around in a hopeless search, already knowing she was gone. That calmness that only seemed to come with Lexa’s presence had disappeared.

Raven eventually materialised a few minutes later, oddly, smiling wide and slinging her arm over her shoulder. “Ready to trundle on home, Griffin?” she grinned, her words slurred and her body swaying.

Clarke forced a smile. “Of course. You better not throw up in the car though.” She narrowed her eyes then, in some likely futile attempt to intimidate Raven into listening to her. She didn’t mention how her definition of ‘ _home_ ’ was beginning to change, whether she’d noticed or not.

And her home had already walked out the door.

-

She spent the rest of the night listening to Raven ramble on about some gorgeous woman who was probably a demigod of some sorts, and while Clarke smiled and she chuckled and shoved her good naturedly, she couldn’t help but the feel the longing intensify in her chest.

That feeling didn’t stray for the next two weeks.

But Clarke had always been one to repress, so when she found she had doodled Lexa’s eyes for the tenth time, she scrunched up the paper, and threw it in the bin.

-

She didn’t want to be here.

But Lexa’s voice was something of a siren’s call, and no matter how hard she tried to fight she always failed in the resist of its pull. To make it worse, today was the first night of the full moon. If she thought she had any self-control around Lexa when she _wasn’t_ on her turning days, it was pretty much impossible when she was on. A fact that Clarke had learnt with no ounce of joy.

It was also the reason she didn’t want to be here. Lexa had been teaching her to fight, and they were keeping a pretty regular schedule of her coming round every few days or so. But she didn’t want to be here, not today, not with the threat of the moon rising tonight. Even if it was only the afternoon she could already feel it like a sizzle of electricity under her skin.

She had fully intended on hiding out home like she usually did. She would wait till it was time, her and Raven would drive to the warehouse and she would turn within the safety of the cell. But then Lexa had called, had asked her to come by for their training and Clarke goddamn _knows_ she should have said no. Should have been more amendment on her refusal.

But then she’d heard Lexa’s voice.

And really, it was over before it ever began.

She knocked on the familiar door and waited. When she noticed her hand was trembling she stuffed them into her jacket pockets. She would be fine. A house full of werewolves, ironically, was probably the second best place she could go to on a day like this. They’d understand at least, and if she did snap and lose control, the chances of them surviving her are far higher.

She heard a shuffle of feet from inside, and Clarke didn’t know whether to be proud or not of the fact she could tell it was Lexa from the sound of her steps alone. She had always moved with a natural lethal grace, something unnervingly predatory in her movements. Sometimes Clarke caught herself watching Lexa move sort of mesmerised. The door opened a moment later and like a wave she was hit with Lexa’s scent.

But it was different today. There was that underlying current to it, the buzzing that she could feel an echo of in her skin. It also seemed sharper than usual, the scent of pine was more of a rainforest, and it burrowed its way into her senses with greater intensity than it should have. Her eyes drew shut in instinct, unable to resist to pull in another take of the air.

She felt like she was drowning and she stepped back. She pretended her foot didn’t trip slightly, and that her eyes didn’t blink open as if pulled in for a daze, and most importantly—she pretended that Lexa wasn’t doing the same.

Clarke cleared her throat. “Hey.” She breathed, and it seemed they both decided to ignore how her voice shook a little.

Lexa swallowed. Clarke’s eyes traced her throat bob. “I know you were reluctant to come today,” she started, and Clarke tried really hard to focus on her words and not just the moving of her lips. Her damn scent was clouding her head.

“I still think it’s a bad idea.” Clarke said, omitting how she thought it was an absolutely _terrible_ fucking idea, because her self-control was also notoriously abysmal on her turning days. And yet, here she was. Like a complete and utter moron.

Lexa at least grew a small smile, and despite Clarke’s internal chaos she couldn’t help but echo it. Lexa smiling was a rare sight, and whenever she managed to pull one out of her it always made her heart stumble in her chest and warmth spread right down to the tips of her fingers.

“Perhaps,” Lexa conceded. “But this will be a good opportunity to practice your control. I’m sure you’ve noticed that it is different on the full moon. The wolf is closer than to the surface than it ever is in human form; you are more volatile, but a little stronger, faster.”

“You mean more wolf-like.” Clarke teased, raising a brow. Lexa looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but thought better of it. She seemed to settle for a small glare.

“Come. Today will be shorter. You will grow frustrated quicker, and since you have expressed just how much you would like to avoid turning—”

“I refuse.”

Lexa nodded knowingly. “—you refuse, so we will stop before we can accidently trigger your turning.”

Clarke blinked. “That can happen?”

“Sometimes.” Lexa sighed, stepping back in gesture for her to come in. “Anger is one of the quickest ways to trigger a transformation. With our training you know very little: you do not win. Your wolf will find this aggravating, and since it is full moon, it is more likely it will try to break out.”

Clarke stared at her.

Just why the _fuck_ did she come here again?

“Right.” Clarke eventually said. She pulled in a shuddering breath, forcing a smile. “So, what’s first then?”

Lexa paused a moment. She looked at her strangely, in a way that Clarke couldn’t quite decipher. She thought that Lexa was going to say something—her mouth opened and she breathed in like she would—but she remained silent, and instead just clenched her jaw and dipped her head.

“Follow me.” She said, like Clarke didn’t already know the layout of the house at this point.

There was something unnameable between them, a tether and a force that felt like an oncoming wave. Inevitable and crushing. They tended to dance around it whenever she felt it rise; they backed away whenever it came clawing up their chests and their throats. Yet still it grew, in the way that Lexa closed the door behind her and came to her side as if she had never not been there, in the way the Clarke couldn’t quite ever take her eyes off her, in her movements and her eyes and the her entire being.

There was something there. Something both terrifying and exhilarating. But when Lexa locked eyes with her, when her brow furrowed ever so slightly, as if she’d been catching on to Clarke’s train of thought; Clarke said nothing.

She didn’t say a single thing.

Clarke followed Lexa through the house. They passed some of the rest of Lexa’s pack, and it was easy to tell the excited tension that electrified the air. It was almost tangible, how on edge everyone was, seeming to mentally count down the minutes to moonrise. She briefly caught Tristan’s eye, he stood next to Quint leaning near the fireplace, and the hairs on her neck rose at the heated stare they shared.

She made herself look away and kept walking.

She focused back on looking to Lexa, but she frowned a little at seeing that Lexa was watching Tristan as well. She knew that Lexa would have known what happened between them. It was her pack after all; she would need to know everything that happened. Clarke couldn’t really tell what was in Lexa’s gaze. All she saw was the tightening in her shoulders and the muscle twitching from her jaw.

They briefly met gazes, and something in her softened.

“Let us fight. See if you have made any progress.”

Clarke swallowed. She burrowed her hands deeper into her pockets. “Yeah. Sure.”

Lexa nodded. She opened the backyard door, letting her go first while she followed in from behind.

Clarke took in a controlled breath. She would be fine. She had this under control.

She was fine.

It was fine.

-

It was not fine.

She was not fine _at all_.

Lexa had been right. Normally their sessions do tend to aggravate her in some way, how she could never best her and it would become more just a test of how long she could stay on two feet then actually _win_ in their spars. Normally Clarke didn’t have a problem with that. Lexa had years and years on her—Clarke respected that—and her goal was progress anyway, was to try hold her own for longer each session.

They were feeling the first fingers of spring now. It was a little warmer than usual, meaning they were both sweating a little more, having rid their outer layers earlier. Lexa had been stripped down to a singlet and thin pants, and really it was making it incredibly difficult to concentrate. Because _sure_ , it was what Lexa usually wore in their training, but it was a full moon today. Every scent was sharper in her noise. Every subtle sound was magnified to crushing. The smell of Lexa’s sweat, for example, was making her want to do _very_ different things to fighting. The sound of her pounding heart with their exertion.

But there was also this strange urge that she was desperately trying to repress. And that was the want to bury her nose into her neck and breathe deep. To press themselves close enough together that Clarke’s scent would entangle with hers. She didn’t know what the urge was. But it was getting annoying, because every time Lexa shoved her back; pushed her or grabbed her or threw her, it would make her irrationally upset, because she wanted to be _close_. She needed to be.

Clarke panted from where she was kneeled on the ground. She pulled in a controlled breath, trying to control the anger flaring up within her. She was fine. Lexa was just doing what had to do. She had no right to get angry over this, plus, she had _asked_ for this. It wasn’t her fault.

Yet still when she stood up, her hands were curled into fists.

Lexa observed her closely. “You are not concentrating.” She noted.

Clarke scoffed before she could stop herself. “No shit.” Her voice was laced with a building frustration. Lexa must have sensed it because she stepped back, she was breathing heavy too, nodding at her.

“I think that is enough for today. You have done well.”

But instead of feeling relief at her words she found that anger again, an unknown disappointment and desolation simply because she couldn’t be close with her. These emotions felt like they were choking her, hooking claws into her stomach and dragging her under relentless waters, so when she spoke, Clarke already knew it was a bad idea before she said the words.

“No. Keep going. I’m fine.”

Lexa didn’t look convinced. “No, you are not. We will continue another day.”

She turned around and walked over to where she had shed off her clothes. Clarke felt the anger rise and settle in her chest. The logic part of her knew what she was about to do was incredibly stupid—but she wasn’t thinking with logic. So as she was turned Clarke burst forward in an attempt to lunge at her.

Of course it didn’t work. Lexa’s head snapped back up and she grabbed her before she could make contact, using her own momentum to the throw her to the side. Clarke hit the ground in a roll, but her wolf was rising to the surface, and she was quick to slip to her feet and jump up again.

But Lexa didn’t rise to the bait. She just shook her head. “We are _done_ , Clarke.” She stated, and her voice was firm. No room for argument. “Go home. If you wish to join us on the run tonight, come before moonrise. But we are done with our training for today.”

Clarke grit her teeth. She could feel herself practically vibrate with her restraint. “Why end it now? You afraid to get shown up?”

“Don’t insult me, Clarke.” Lexa shot her a glare, but Clarke smiled devilishly, knowing she got a reaction.

“Or what?” she pushed. She beckoned her with her hand. “Go again. Prove yourself. You’re an alpha or whatever, aren’t you? Is that not your duty?”

“You know nothing of duties.” Lexa snapped. Clarke stepped back when Lexa dropped the shirt in her hand and threw it to the ground. “You are speaking beyond out of turn. You are letting your wolf control you. Back. Down.”

Yet Clarke took the warnings with a smile. “Ever heard the phrase ‘all bark, no bite?’ Oddly accurate for you don’t you think?”

Clarke never thought her taunting would actually work. But if she had been focused on more than just the turmoil beneath her ribs she would have noticed how she was not the only one who had been growing in tension during their spar. How Lexa more than once had backed off when she shouldn’t have. How she had ran out of breath more than just because of the exercise, but in control. Because she had never focused enough to realise that she was not the only one on the brink.

And all it would take is a single push.

Lexa snarled, a harsh savage sound that had fear exploding within her out of sheer instinct alone. She couldn’t even raise up her arms in time before Lexa lurched for her. She slammed her shoulder into her with such force that Clarke nearly went airborne in being thrown back. She slammed into the ground back first, but Lexa was above her within a blink and snatching the scruff of her shirt, roughly hauling her up.

“Do you forget whose permission you walk this land on?” Lexa growled, exposing her teeth. Clarke growled right back, but when she tried to break her hold Lexa snarled again and shoved her harshly backwards. She came at her in a blur, sweeping her feet and sending her into the hard ground enough Clarke knew her back would be a bruised mess by the end of the day.

But there was a fire ignited in her blood that couldn’t be smothered. So when Lexa backed away, panting with harsh breaths, Clarke scrambled up to her feet and didn’t back down. Lexa pulled her lip back.

“Why do you challenge me? Do you want evidence for why _I_ am alpha? Is that what you wish?”

Clarke bared her teeth back at her. “What I wish is to see why you see yourself as so mighty.”

She should have said nothing and walked away. That would have been the smart thing to do. Lexa’s shoulders rose and she drew herself up like an oncoming hurricane that was intent of reaping havoc and destroying any and all in its path.

Clarke knew that Lexa had been holding back in their sessions. She would never stand a chance if she didn’t. But when Lexa came at her then she didn’t hold back, not an ounce. She ploughed her into with the ferocity that came with wolves. She was dimly reminded of the fight she had seen between Echo and Quint. Clarke took a parade of hits and barely managed to get one in. She was thrown with such force she felt she was flying at some points.

And yet, Clarke couldn’t help but notice the subtle restraint that still remained. Because while Lexa did pummel into her, her hits were not as hard as they should have been, her ribs ached but Clarke knew they weren’t broken. Even in this, even in this blind _rage_ —there was still an odd amount of care.

Clarke groaned when she smashed into the grass again. Her arms were trembling violently as she forced them to push her up. Lexa stood over her, and her shadow was cast over Clarke’s body on the ground.

Lexa stared down at her. “Submit.” She ordered.

Clarke looked up at her.

“No.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “ _Submit_.”

“No.” Clarke grit her teeth, but with sharp breaths she managed to shakily bring herself back up on two feet. “You are not my alpha.”

“And this isn’t your territory, yet you remain. You have challenged my authority. Submit.”

Clarke could feel her wolf beneath her skin. Her heart thudded against her ribcage with such force she wouldn’t be surprised if it burst out of chest. A bead of sweat rolled down the nape of her neck. But still, she held her ground. She raised her chin, hardened her stance.

And strangely, Lexa watched her intently as she did so. A wave of confusion crossed her features. Her brow furrowed. “Why is it so hard for you?” she whispered, and that burning anger had faded now, her voice soft in its loss.

But Clarke saw an opportunity within that softness and took it.

It was the lapse in concentration she needed. She burst forward in supernatural speeds and for once Lexa wasn’t quick enough to intercept, too caught up in her own head for this precious moment. Her eyes widened as Clarke collided and forced her back into a trunk of a tree, and without hesitating Clarke dove at her neck, and she heard Lexa’s sharp intake of breath, the sudden tensing of her entire body.

But she didn’t do what Lexa probably expected of her. Clarke was _finally_ able to breathe in her scent where she had been wanting for weeks. She nudged just below the shell of ear and breathed in through her nose like it was the only source of air left in the entire universe. She was slammed with Lexa’s scent with an intensity she had never felt before, but _god_ was it intoxicating and she only just managed to bite back her groan. Instead she felt her entire body go lax, sinking into Lexa. A feeling of belonging hit her in the chest so hard she nearly fell to the ground.

She could hear Lexa’s thundering heartbeat. It stuttered when Clarke nudged closer, pressing themselves so tight together there was no gap between them. She could make out a soft rumbling, and it took her a second to realise the sound was coming from _her_. Lexa must have heard it too because Clarke felt her relax, if ever so slightly.

It was with great hesitance, but slowly, she felt something soft pressing against her own neck. Eventually it settled itself similar to Clarke, just under her ear, and when she listened to Lexa’s heartbeat she noticed how it slowed, how it calmed, and all that fury and anger that had ignited between them was snuffed out like a candle being blown. She felt her wolf settle in the way she hadn’t experienced in these years. Heard its whisper right back in the recess of her mind.

 _Mate_.

She didn’t quite know how long they spent in that position. Reality itself felt out of place, as if they’d accidently fallen into a pocket dimension where they were the only beings that existed, and for a small moment they allowed their very souls to intertwine. Her eyes were screwed shut and all she could smell was Lexa, all she could feel was Lexa. It was just nothing but _Lexa_.

Eventually her mind came back though. She still felt a little drunk even on Lexa’s scent, but there was some knot in her chest that was finally loose now that she’d given in. It was slow going as she reluctantly leant out. She felt the nose that had been pressed against her own neck lean back too.

They locked eyes, and Clarke thought she had never seen Lexa so indescribably _soft_ before. The green of her eyes was bright enough that Clarke was almost tempted to squint, but they pulled her in like they always did, and she didn’t fight it. The very air itself felt heavy and thick. Her gaze flicked downwards when she saw Lexa swallow and wet her lips.

Lexa took in a shuddering breath. “Clarke—“

Her voice was cut off with a shrill ring. They both flinched, and Clarke even raised a hand to her ear as she jumped back. She glanced up in time to see Lexa blink, and when the ringing kept coming she tore her gaze and strode off in a search for its source. Clarke wasn’t blind to how Lexa tripped over feet as she did so. She fished out the offending phone from her jacket, looking to the screen and furrowing her brow before bringing it to her ear.

“Indra?” Lexa asked, and Clarke tried really hard to bring herself back to present so she could focus on whatever was being said.

Lexa’s features had been oddly soft before, maybe even the slightest bit vulnerable, but the longer Indra spoke the quicker it hardened to the mask that she was so used to. Clarke only managed to bring herself back in to time to catch the tail end of Indra’s distressed voice.

“ _Beja Heda,_ _ai gaf sisen in. Mya snap._ ” She caught Indra saying, and while Clarke had no idea what she said, she knew it must have been bad because there was genuine panic in her tone—something she wasn’t even sure that Indra could be.

Lexa nodded sharply, seeming to forget Indra couldn’t see. “ _Sha. Ai na ste der snap._ ” She didn’t wait for her reply; she just ended the call and stuffed the phone into her pocket. She hurriedly pulled on her shirt and jacket.

Clarke took a hesitant step forward. “What’s wrong?” she asked, and Lexa paused in her movements, looking to her with a hesitation that was almost palpable.

Lexa’s eyes flicked over her form. It was obvious there were words that needed to be said between them, but whatever Indra needed her for, it was going to force that conversation on hold.

“Pack business. You do not need to concern yourself with it.”

Clarke heard what Lexa wasn’t saying.

_And you’re not of the pack._

“Right. Yeah.” Clarke didn’t understand why it stung. It shouldn’t. “You go, I’ll get myself home.”

Lexa pulled herself up now that she was ready. She gave her a look that Clarke couldn’t read, but still it made her heart beat faster all the same. It didn’t help that Clarke could still smell the faint traces of Lexa’s scent in her nose. Could still vividly remember the sensation of nudging against the soft skin.

“You may still run with us.” She insisted quietly.

Clarke blinked, having not expected that at all. But still she shook her head. Ignored the ache in her chest. “I’ll see you when the full moon is passed.”

Lexa looked like she wanted to rehash their old argument about this, but it was clear the call with Indra was a far more pressing matter. She sighed, but conceded, nodding stiffly. “Until then.” She offered, giving her one last look before turning around and heading back up to the house. Her pace picked up the closer she got, speeding from a walk to a sprint.

Yet, just as she’d made it to the backdoor she paused, and she glanced over her shoulder.

Her and Lexa locked eyes.

And for a moment Clarke thought the universe ceased to exist.

-

Indra didn’t want to admit it, but she was beginning to grow fond of the human girl.

Octavia was not what she was expecting when she came to Polis with Lexa. Her exploration of the town had led her into the gym, and it had piqued her interest at the undeniable sounds of fighting she could hear going on within—the grunts and thuds that she heard often when living with a house of werewolves—and since she had already done her sweep of the town in the fruitless endeavour of finding Cage, she decided to check it out.

The girl coveted a burning drive that was rare and difficult to find. There was a fire in her, a flame of such determination that it was impossible not to see, in the way she fought and she got back up when she was fallen. Indra had watched her fight with what she presumed as her brother, their scents and features were similar, and she found herself feeling something she hadn’t felt in a long time, at least not to this degree.

A curiosity to discover.

So she had fought with her, to try and get a feel of her. Truly she shouldn’t have at all. She was _human_ after all, and she didn’t interact with them unless necessary. There were far too many dangers in Indra’s opinion, plus, in the act of fighting it was even more risky—what if she took notice of her unnatural speed? The dexterity, agility, the markers that made her a hybrid between wolf and human? It was a precarious game she was playing, indulging into this curiosity.

But still she followed it. Indra saw something in Octavia. She had the makings of what could have been a truly brilliant warrior, if she was ever a werewolf. It felt almost like a betrayal, that someone like _this_ , someone who was so clearly perfect as a wolf—for them to be human. Octavia was already trained to some degree; she could hold her own well, but the extent that could be chased if she were a werewolf, the things she could teach her…

She knew her place though. She wouldn’t turn her, not on a whim alone, and certainly not so early on. Perhaps later though, if she finds that Octavia’s flame never dies but grows. Perhaps then she’ll bring it up with Lexa and ask her permission. She would have to gain Octavia’s consent, though even now she already suspected that Octavia wouldn’t object to it. Call it gut instinct. She had a feeling Octavia would be too enticed with the benefits to shy away.

“Rotate with your body,” Indra commented, her breathing a little laboured with the effort of their training. They had been sparing for nearly an hour now. It went on and off though, interspersed with breaks where they talked or Indra took effort to manually correct and guide something in Octavia’s movements.

Octavia wiped the sweat leaking down the sides of her head with the back of her hand. “I _am_ rotating,” she growled, and Indra nearly smiled at the sound. “Go again. I’m ready.”

She had the temper of a wolf, that was for sure.

Indra nodded. “Again then.”

Octavia paused a moment, forcing a steadying breath before she launched at her. Indra couldn’t stop the small curve to her lip. She knew it was risky continuing to train with Octavia. They had been going at it for three weeks now, and the casualness she was beginning to develop was worrying. She didn’t want to admit it, but that didn’t stop it from being true. She was beginning to grow fond of the girl. And really she was dreading what it all could mean. It was common for the older wolves within packs to take on one of the younger ones under their wings, to build them and mould them, a second of sorts.

It was becoming harder to not see Octavia as a human, but as a second.

Anya would have a field day if she knew the extent of her attachment to the human. Then again, that would probably mean that Anya would make an inappropriate comment, and Indra had never been one to waste an opportunity to scold the younger girl. She wouldn’t mind a little reprimanding spar.

Indra blocked Octavia’s strike and used the chance to snatch at her wrist. She yanked her forward before Octavia could break free of the hold and kicked her in the back. Octavia hit the ground with a grunt.

“Goddammit.” She panted. She flicked her hair out of her face, glaring up at her.

But Indra just grew her rare grin. She offered a hand, and Octavia eyed it for a moment before her shoulders slumped and she grasped her forearm, letting her pull her up.

“Call it a day?” Octavia asked, and Indra nodded.

“Yes. That is enough.”

She could probably go for more, but she also had to keep in mind it was the full moon today. She didn’t want to risk an accidental turning, even if it had been a very long while since she’d last turned without wanting to. She had had many years to hone her control. But she also knew that not being foolish and pushing her limits on the day of the full moon was a big factor into her control. There was a time and a place to take risks.

They walked over to the nearby bench and grabbed their towels. Indra wasn’t as tired out as Octavia, as per usual, and she enjoyed Octavia’s glare as she wiped off the few beads of sweat down her neck and took a long swig of her water bottle. Her breathing wasn’t quite still back to normal, but it wasn’t like Octavia’s who was still openly breathing through her mouth.

Octavia shook her head at her. “I don’t get how do you that.” She breathed, promptly chugging down her water.

Indra raised a brow. “Do what?”

Octavia waved a hand at her while she drank. She pulled the bottle away. “Look like you’ve barely broken a sweat after all that.”

Indra bit back her smirk. “Perhaps one day you will be the same.” She said, turning away. She took another drink of water. This was growing dangerous.

They drifted off and went through some cool down stretches, and it didn’t take long until Octavia started talking again. It was something she had learnt early on with her: Octavia was a talker. She was smart enough to wait till their was a gap, typically during cool downs, in those moments before and after. Indra played more a listener than anything. She wasn’t one for lengthy conversations, and Octavia seemed to understand.

Indra suspected she just enjoyed having someone to rant to.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Indra looked over from where she was stretching her calf muscle. She dipped her head.

Octavia bit her lip. “You remember Raven right?”

Indra frowned slightly. “The girl you went to school with.” She said slowly, remembering the many rants and stories Octavia had gone off about her. She also knew her as the mutt’s friend who knew of their existence. There were very few humans who knew of werewolves, but it wasn’t completely unheard of. Though it was highly disliked. Indra didn’t trust the girl one bit, but Lexa had ordered her to steer clear of her, and now she knew that she was one of the Octavia’s best friends. She was of Octavia’s pack. So, reluctantly, she had grown to respect her. With the bare minimum at least.

“Right yeah, so. Okay.” Indra’s brow furrowed further at Octavia’s fumbling. She watched her intently as she straightened herself up and took a deep breath. “I’m going to ask you something really weird and I just want you to answer honestly okay?”

Indra stared at her for a heavy beat before she nodded.

Octavia cleared her throat. “Do you know why someone would have a silver bullet?”

Indra stilled.

Octavia went on then, seeming to mistake her sudden tension for confusion. “I know it’s weird, but it’s been driving me nuts. I just, do you know? Why someone would have one, _make_ one? Like they’re terrible in the function of a bullet. Why go to all that _effort_ just for silver?”

Indra felt her heart rate spike. She took effort to appear calm. “What does this have to do with Raven?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.

Octavia sighed. “Well, she was the one who had the bullet. And it was totally used too. I’ve been trying to find out you know? But all my research just leads me on weirdo forums on people ranting about its properties against like werewolves and vampires and shit.”

“And do you believe that?” Indra fought to keep her voice neutral, to not reveal the growing fear.

But Octavia just laughed. “What, the supernatural? Of course not. I’m not crazy. I mean,” she backtracked suddenly, looking sheepish. “Unless you do, in which it’s not crazy, it’s just… I don’t believe in that cra—in that stuff.”

Indra smiled slightly, and while it was in amusement of Octavia’s mistake, it was also in relief. “You have not offended me Octavia.” She said, and Octavia actually looked relieved. She nodded at her a little too quickly.

“Good. Great. That’s good.” She pulled in another breath. “So… do you have an answer to my question then?”

Indra lost her smile. She looked away and continued with her stretches. “This Raven. You say she has a silver bullet, a used one?” she asked instead.

Octavia paused a moment before answering. “Yeah. It was in her room.”

Indra swallowed heavily. Raven knew of werewolves. Lived with one. Perhaps after discovering what Clarke was, she had become a hunter? All she knew of her was her recklessness and stubbornness, if she had learnt anything at all from the copious amount of stories from Octavia. It would fit.

But at the same time it didn’t. Why wait three years to kill a single werewolf? And they were close; the mutt viewed her as family. It would be an ideal position for Raven, if she were hunter. Yet Octavia said the bullet had been used. They would have known if another wolf had died. Who had she shot? Cage? Dante even?

“You are sure the bullet was used?” Indra pressed, looking up to her. Octavia was staring at her with a creased brow.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” She answered softly. Her eyes flicked over her. “Is something wrong?”

The potential problem that this could lead to was very wrong, but Indra couldn’t say that. “Do you believe Raven was the one to use the bullet? Does she know how to handle a firearm?”

Octavia was beginning to look as uneasy as her now. “Well I mean, I’ve never seen her do it but… well, she’s Raven. Give her a day, even less, and she can do just about anything.”

“But she is your best friend, yes? Family to you. A sister. As is Clarke.”

Octavia opened her mouth then closed it. “I guess so.” She murmured quietly.

Indra clenched her jaw. If Raven was truly a hunter, or at the very least had _become_ one, the betrayal of her to kill Clarke would be devastating to them. And Indra really didn’t want to admit it, but she was starting to care about Octavia a little more than she should. It would hurt her greatly. And if Raven ever decided to go after more than just her friend… after _them_ …

She was about to say something more when there was a sudden bang. Her head jerked upwards and she hastily spun around to the source of the sound. It didn’t take long for the sound to reveal itself as a person, hunched and clutching at their stomach. The back door was slammed open and a man came stumbling through. He collapsed to the floor.

Indra felt her gut drop through the ground. “Lincoln,” she breathed, ignoring Octavia’s panicked shout and bursting forward. Lincoln was groaning from the ground and Indra hastily dropped by his head, her eyes frantically jumping over him to figure out the cause of his pain. It wasn’t that difficult. There was blood slipping through his fingers where he held his stomach, but at his leg there was a bear trap clamped around his ankle.

He was sweating all over, his teeth gritted as he panted harsh breaths. “Help me,” he forced out, and Indra nodded, shoving down the overwhelming panic that wanted to rise at seeing her pack mate injured to such a degree.

She heard a phone ringing though and her head snapped behind her. She saw Octavia staring at them with wide eyes, her phone to her ear. Indra jumped up and in a blink snatched the phone from her hand. She didn’t pay attention to Octavia’s protests and just ended the call.

“Indra what the _hell_?” Octavia hissed, but she just glared at her, quickly returning to Lincoln’s side and putting her hands over his to add pressure on the wound.

“He can’t go to a hospital. We can’t trust the police. Get me a towel.”

Octavia gaped at her. “The fuck are you talking about? Who _is_ this guy? What the hell are you—“

“Octavia!” Indra snapped. Octavia’s jaw snapped shut. Indra took in a steadying breath. “He is a close friend. Just trust me. We cannot get outside people involved. We can’t.”

Octavia looked like she wanted to argue with her further, but then Lincoln let out a dangerously sounding wet cough and she sighed with resignation. “Alright. I’ll get my emergency kit. And towels.”

She promptly ran off before Indra could tell her it wouldn’t be necessary. Lincoln would heal, or at least she hoped so. She looked back to him. “Lincoln what happened to you?”

“Hunters,” he breathed. He screwed his eyes shut and bit back a grunt. “Not—Not wolf. Human. They confused me for that wild dog that got that girl, I got shot. I ran into the bear trap by accident. It’s been tampered with and I couldn’t get it off.”

“Why didn’t you shift?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder to see if Octavia was near. She wasn’t yet.

Lincoln shook his head. “I had just shifted back. Too recent. And then with the bear trap—“

“You’re too weak to remove it,” Indra guessed, and Lincoln nodded. She gulped before pulling her hands away from his stomach and moving to his leg. “This will hurt. _Ste yuj_.”

Octavia appeared back by her side just in time for Indra hands to slip around the bear trap. “Hey, hey, what the hell are you doing? You’re not _near_ strong enough to—“

Indra ripped it off with a grunt. It came apart with a metal snap, Lincoln crying out at the sudden release. Blood was quick to pour out and she cringed at the mangled flash. Thankfully it didn’t look like it’d cut too close to the bone, but it was still a bloody mess. He should be fine when he shifts, but Indra wasn’t entirely sure on to what degree it would heal. She needed to call Nyko and get him here.

“ _Ste gonen_.” Indra whispered, and Lincoln’s wide eyes snapped up to meets hers. “I will get Nyko.” She waited for his nod, and with the closest she could come to a confirmation of his safety she returned the gesture and stood up, glancing around the training room and to Octavia’s stunned self who was gaping at her. There was no time for that however. “Octavia, come here and press against his stomach. We need to keep blood loss at a minimum. Where are the keys to the building?”

Octavia was still pale and looked shaken, but she listened to her and hurriedly replaced her side. “In the office. On the table.” She answered, her voice only somewhat shaky. She was cut off by Lincoln’s groan when she pressed the towels against his wound. They both cringed.

Indra shot off the moment the words had left her lips. She needed to make sure no one walked in on them. She quickly found the door to the office of the owner. They weren’t there, Octavia said they didn’t come in on weekends, and for that Indra was grateful. She checked the knob and was relieved to find it unlocked. The sounds of Lincoln’s distress were still sharp in her ears and she would deny it but her hands were shaking when she burst into the room and hurried for the desk, scanning for the keys.

The office was small and tidier than she expected. There were rows of neatly lined metal cabinets against the walls, and atop a stack of various paper forms was the keys sitting innocently. She snatched them and ran back out the room.

Lock the doors, then call Nyko. That was the plan. She was midway through rolling the blinds down at the front after locking the door when she heard a scream from the back and her blood ran cold. Her head whirled around, and she was frozen with her fear for a beat until she heard the undeniable sound of the first sick _crunch_.

“No,” Indra’s eyes blew wide. She felt like her very lungs had collapsed on her and all she had was her ragged breaths as she abandoned the half-done blinds and bolted for the back, dodging workout treadmills and stacked weights, seeing herself in the corner of her eye a blur across the wall of mirrors at the side. She burst into the back but pulled to an abrupt halt at seeing what was in front of her.

She was a fool. An utter fool. Her mother would be ashamed.

Lincoln was shifting.

He was already the better half of the way there. He was hunched over on all fours, back arched as his legs pushed out with their growth, his shirt ripping and tearing as bones shifted beneath the skin like a hand stretching plastic, dark near black fur sprouting along his body. Indra shouted something that was either a warning or a curse, she didn’t know, she just knew she had to get to him before worse damage could be done.

His groans became animalistic grunts and snarls, sharp snaps as a snout pushed through his nose, teeth growing and forming.

“Get away Octavia! Get back!” she yelled, but Octavia was just standing there watching the process without blinking. Indra thought she probably couldn’t even hear her.

Lincoln shouldn’t be shifting this fast, but Indra had forgotten it was the full moon in the mist of her panic. She was nearly there. But so was Lincoln, his shredded clothes at his paws the only remnants of the human he was. Octavia stumbled back in her shock while Lincoln shook his head, huffed and growled.

“What? What the—?”

Indra was close enough to grab him. She lunged forward, but it seemed that Lincoln realised this too. He let out a savage snarl before he burst forward as well, Octavia not being able to jump back in time to miss his jaws wrapping around her leg. He jerked her back and Octavia went down with a surprised cry, but he didn’t have her for long until Indra clambered to him and as fast she could and grabbed his snout. She gave a snarl of her own as she ripped it off, Lincoln tripping over his paws as he was pushed back.

They locked eyes and the usual warm brown was not there. It was completely wild. Frenzied. Indra knew there was no hope in reason. He growled at her, blood still dripping from his jaws, and ignoring Octavia’s pained gasps from behind her Indra dove for him and latched onto his back. She avoided his wildly swinging his head as he tried to bite her while she firmly grasped and hooked her arms from behind him, grabbing and hauling him backwards. He struggled and fruitlessly tried to escape her grip as she dragged him, but it was useless and soon Indra was where she needed to be.

With her foot she kicked open the office door. Lincoln snarled again yet Indra paid no mind, sucking in a sharp breath before tensing her muscles and throwing him bodily into the room. He hit the ground in a roll. His paws slipped and clicked against the floor as he scrambled his way up onto his feet, and they met gazes, both seeming to taking each other in with their harsh panting—but then Indra was slamming the door close and shoving the key into the lock. She locked in it in time for the door to jump forward with Lincoln’s slam against it.

Indra clenched her jaw, pushing her weight against the door. “Lincoln!” she called out. The full moon may be clouding his mind and he may be more animal than human right now, but that was something she could work with. “You threaten your Beta! Do you wish you challenge me?”

She heard a snarl from within. But the door didn’t jerk forward.

Indra blinked the sweat out of her eyelashes. “Do you issue a challenge? Is that why you fight me?”

A growl this time. Softer than before. Still irritated, but not as savage.

Indra slumped against the door. Her eyes fell close and she released a shaky breath. “ _Beja. Kamp raun hir._ ” She whispered, though she knew Lincoln could hear her. She was answered with another growl, but this one was halfway worked into a whine. Acceptance. He would be fine, for now. Indra didn’t give herself long to savour her relief before she was blinking open her eyes and pulling herself up. Octavia. She had to check on Octavia.

She already knew the answer before she stepped in. Octavia had managed to get herself to on a nearby bench, one pressed up against a wall. She had her leg out, clutching at it desperately as she bit back what Indra suspected to be burning pain. That was how it was always described to her anyway. It was said to be like your skin itself was on a fire, but the flame was invisible, and you were powerless to do nothing but feel it eat away at your very flesh.

She rushed over to her and fell to her knees just in front of her, hands hovering her bitten leg. Her _bitten_ leg. Her bitten leg that had broke the skin. Indra used every ounce of will power she had to keep her breathing controlled.

“Indra,” Octavia panted, and Indra’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. Her teeth were gritted. “Indra what the hell just… he just… he _changed_ into…”

Indra’s brain was working overtime of all the implications of what had gone down. But there was one thing that was the most pressing, especially when it really shouldn’t be. “Octavia, I need you listen to me carefully.” She started, forcing down the panic in her throat.

A sweat had already broken out at Octavia’s hairline. Indra had no doubt the fact that it was a full moon today was making it far worse for her. Octavia shook her head but Indra didn’t know who it was directed at. “Indra I don’t—I don’t understand, I don’t—“

“Listen.” Indra leant forward and placed her hands over Octavia’s, from where they gripped her leg with white knuckles. “I need you to listen. Someone will be coming. She will help you, but only if you let her. If she offers you a choice you must, you _must_ accept. Do not insult her, do not offend her, treat her as if she holds your life and soul in her very hands, do you understand?”

It didn’t look like Octavia understood anything right now. Tears escaped from her eyes. “Indra I don’t know what’s happening.” She whispered, and her voice shook and it trembled, and Indra had to swallow down the forgotten emotions that hearing it brought up.

Indra held her hands tighter. “I need you to trust me. Will you trust me?” she urged, and Octavia blinked at her, still hissing and gritting her teeth at the pain. Yet when she looked to her, she only hesitated a beat before bobbing her head. “Then trust me with this. A woman will come. Her name is Lexa, but do not address her as so unless she directly addresses you. If she offers you a choice, accept it. You must accept it.”

Octavia’s eyes flicked between hers. But Indra saw it; she saw that familiar fire that had enticed her from the beginning. It lit itself in her eyes, grew in the hardening of her features, tightening in her shoulders. As if preparing herself to go to war. “Okay.” She breathed, and this time while her voice still trembled it was not in terror and fear.

Indra pushed away any feelings of pride. She had no right to feel that. “ _Ste yuj_.” She whispered, and then, realising her error. “Stay strong.” She translated.

Octavia’s brow furrowed briefly, but soon she was murmuring the words back. “ _Ste yuj._ ”

Indra only lingered for an extra moment before she knew she had to get moving. She got to her feet and ignored when she felt her heart twinge at Octavia’s pained grunt. She shouldn’t care. Her phone was within the pile of her clothes by the mats, and she was fast to hurry over and snag the device from within her jacket. Her fingers were still bloody, and they left red fingerprints across the screen as she dialled the number she knew by heart and brought her phone up.

There was only one person to call right now. When it was just Lincoln being injured it required immediately only Nyko, but now a human had witnessed the change and had been bitten. There was only one person she _could_ call right now, without it seeming like treason.

Lexa picked up on the third ring. “ _Indra_?” she asked, and Indra didn’t bother with any sugar coating.

“A human witnessed the change and has been bitten. The human is Octavia, I am with her at the gym where I have been sparing with her.” She attempted at least to keep the panic and desperate urgency from her tone, but it was obvious even to her she had failed. She took in a shaky breath. “ _Beja Heda,_ _ai gaf sisen in. Mya snap.”_

There was a only a brief pause before she heard, “ _Sha. Ai na ste der snap._ ”

Indra released a strained breath. She had told Lexa before of the gym and Octavia, she knew that Lexa already had the address. She heard the call end and briefly stared at the phone in her hands, noticing only now the slight tremble in her fingers. She stuffed the phone in her pocket and walked back over to Octavia. Her feet tripped when she heard a howl suddenly barrel through the building in a piercing echo. It came from the office. It was Lincoln.

She heard the pain in it. The regret, the realisation. He had come to his senses then. She knew he would soon be shifting back to human.

Indra slowly dragged her gaze until she was looking to Octavia.

She supposed in some morbid way she got her wish.

-

They didn’t have to wait long.

Lexa was there within the next twenty minutes. Indra knew that because she was checking the time on her phone near obsessively. Lincoln had indeed shifted back soon after she had the call, and when Indra had opened the door and locked eyes with his she had never seen such overwhelming pain there, a sorrow so intense it was impossible to stay solitary, it jumped into her own chest and made her heart _ache_. They had done nothing but stare at each other. There were no words to be said. They both knew that Lincoln had done something that may very well be impossible to come back from.

She could only hope he’d come out of this alive.

She found him a towel to cover his lower half, led him out and sat him with Octavia. Not near, as the moment he meekly treaded his way out Octavia cast one look at him and jumped back. It didn’t help there was still red smeared around his mouth. He slowly made his way to the opposite far end of the bench, making his movements obvious, easier to predict, if only in some vain attempt to give Octavia some sense of ease. Indra was more than surprised to find that it seemed to actually work.

If she weren’t so painfully aware of how precarious of a position she swayed in, she would have mentioned the way Octavia’s eyes had drunk in the sight of Lincoln, of the tattoos at his chest and stomach, and, probably the true thing Octavia was gawking at, the hardened defined muscle.

But this wasn’t the time. So Indra said nothing.

No one spoke for the next while. It was only when Indra’s ears perked at hearing the sound of tires rolling against gravel did Lincoln suddenly speak, his voice quiet and soft.

“I’m sorry.” He said to Octavia. Indra looked over to them. Octavia stared at him, her throat bobbing with the weight of her swallow.

Before Octavia could say anything—though Indra didn’t think she was going to actually speak—there was a knock at the door and she split off within a heartbeat. She hurried over and unlocked the door, jerking it open. Lexa stood on the other side, as well as Anya. Indra glanced over their shoulders to see if anyone was watching before ushering them in. They understood thankfully and quickly slipped through, Indra peaking her head out and checking the empty street one last time before closing the door shut.

They both stiffened immediately upon entering. Indra suspected they had smelt the blood in the air. She would know—she hadn’t yet washed it off her hands after all. “This way.” She directed, and Lexa met her gaze with that steadying stoic mask, nodding rigidly and following after her. She heard Anya mutter something that was probably a string of curses. She didn’t have the will to scold her.

She showed them to the back where Octavia and Lincoln were. Lincoln went straight as a board as soon as they entered the room, though he kept his posture submissive and downtrodden. Octavia was leaning more and more against the wall behind her. The turn was coming, and fast, and she knew that the wolf would be burning through her blood as quick as possible. They probably only had hour or two before she would fall unconscious until moonrise.

Indra walked over to them and stopped next to Octavia, throwing her one last glance and trying to urge her without words to meet her eyes. Whatever higher power must have been feeling an ounce of pity for her then, because Octavia’s eyes fluttered open and she met Indra’s gaze. Indra tried to remind Octavia of what they had spoken about through her eyes alone. She didn’t know if she succeeded.

“What happened here?” Lexa asked in the heavy silence. Her voice was cold but firm, and it was something familiar at least, something Indra knew. Oddly she found it comforting. Indra straightened up.

“I was here with Octavia. We were sparing when Lincoln broke in. He was injured, had been shot and his leg was trapped within a bear trap,” to prove her words she gestured to the metal trap that was still in a bloody puddle on the floor. They both glanced to it, and Anya cursed quietly under her breath again. “I took it off and went to lock the doors so no one could walk in. It would be too much too explain. But… I was foolish. I made a mistake. Lincoln began shifting while I was gone.”

Lexa’s face was looking grimmer by the second. Anya wasn’t fairing any better, and while her mask was relatively closed off there was anger that slipped through the cracks. “Lincoln turned in front of the human then?”

“Yes. He attacked her before I could get to him. When he did I restrained him and locked him in the office.”

Indra caught how Lexa’s eyes briefly flicked to Lincoln. A tick flexed in her jaw. “We will need to gain access to the security footage of this building and have it wiped.” She muttered. Indra nodded and turned her head to face Octavia. She somehow looked worse than she did a minute ago.

“Do you have access Octavia?”

Octavia blinked as if bringing herself out of a daze. She was pale now, sweat drenching her body. “Uh, yeah. Should be able to. The computer in the office will have it. I know the owner’s password.”

Indra raised her brow.

Octavia rolled her eyes. “I saw him put it in once okay? I mean, I probably _shouldn’t_ have been looking but…”

“Why did you come here Lincoln?” Lexa interrupted, draining whatever feeble traces of levity from the conversation.

Lincoln’s eyes had remained downcast and averted, but at being addressed he lifted his head. His submissive posture did not change. Indra crossed her arms over her chest and dug her nails into her arms. “I was tracking in the forest for Cage. I was as a wolf, and I didn’t know that there were human hunters out there as well. I caught snippets of their conversations: they were looking for the ‘wild dog’ that had killed that girl. They were very angry. I tried to pull myself away so I could shift back, but one of them caught my movement.”

“He fired but missed. I ran. I had left my clothes at the edges of the forest near the town, so I ran there. When I was there I checked before shifting and putting on my clothes.” Lincoln took in a sudden breath. Indra had never heard his voice so weak before. “My hope was to be human by the time they caught up. And while I was, I didn’t take into account how trigger happy they would be. They didn’t see me change,” Lincoln emphasised, a sliver of strength slipping into his voice. He stared up at his Beta and Alpha. “They didn’t. But they saw movement. And within the trees, they mistook me for wolf they’d seen. They fired and I was shot. I ran blindly, but that was what they’d wanted to happen. I hit a bear trap.”

“Why did you come here?” Anya questioned.

Lincoln swallowed thickly. “I was badly injured. I had shifted too recently, I was weak… I sought out the closest and strongest scent I could find.”

“You caught your Beta’s scent.” Lexa finished for him. He only hesitated a moment before nodding.

“That is why I came here.”

Lexa thinned her lips and glanced to Octavia. She furrowed her brows slightly, and the quiet that followed felt far too oppressing and suffocating. Indra kept her features as guarded as could be, especially when she caught Anya analysing her, eyes jumping between her and Octavia.

“We will have to kill her then.” Anya spoke up after a while. Indra felt cold fingers wrap around her spine in a fist.

Lexa didn’t outright dismiss the notion, but she did glance to her. Her brows creased again. Her lips pursed. Indra knew Lexa, as did Anya, and it meant that they both saw the gestures for what they were—conflict.

“Alpha,” Anya urged. She gestured to Octavia. “She is a human bitten without your consent. We don’t know who she is. Her loyalties. What she could do. Kill her and then we will deal with Lincoln.”

Lexa’s jaw ticked again.

Indra knew if she didn’t step in it was surely over. She checked the side of her and saw Octavia’s wide eyes staring at her, and Indra could see plain as day the pleading in them, the understanding of what they had talked about before. Her gaze travelled a little further, and even Lincoln looked very displeased with the idea, though she suspected that had a lot to do with overwhelming guilt.

“Octavia is one of Clarke’s best friends.” She said, and that got Lexa’s attention. Indra knew it was a bit of a low blow—and something that would definitely require a _long_ conversation with Lexa after—but she had witnessed Lexa’s odd care when it came to the mutt. She didn’t know _why_ Lexa was being so lenient with her, but she could use that. “Clarke would consider her as one of her pack. If we were to kill her the mutt would take it as a personal attack on her own.”

Anya looked at her strangely. “So? The mutt will get pissed.”

Indra shot her a glare for her carelessness. “The mutt will _retaliate_. We would have to kill her too.”

“Then we’ll kill her too?”

Lexa sighed through her nose. “No. We are not killing Clarke.”

Anya gave Lexa an equally bewildered look as the one she’d given Indra. “Alpha, I saw you two training before. You could take her blindfolded.”

“It is not a question of my strength.” Lexa muttered, and there was a warning edge to her tone that had everyone stepping back. But she just shook her head. “Clarke willingly submitted to me when I am not her alpha. To kill her closest and then her would be a betrayal that could be disastrous.”

Anya scoffed. “The other Alpha’s wouldn’t care what you do with a mutt and a human, Heda.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes, drawing herself up. Sometimes Indra wondered if Anya knew how she was one of the very few who could question Lexa openly to such a degree. “Clarke is a wolf who chose to submit to me. What would it say if I killed her own because of _my_ pack’s own mistakes? One would wonder how easy it’d be to repeat such a betrayal. No. We are not killing Clarke.”

Anya didn’t look pleased, but the reasoning behind Lexa’s decision seemed to placate her. She made the trademark scowl that she always wore, but there was a lowering in her shoulders and posture that gave way of her acceptance. She would not stand against her. Lexa must have noticed, because she offered a barely perceptible nod, that Anya returned, before returning her attention to Indra with an intensity that made her raise her chin.

“You have been training Octavia for these weeks, three, correct?” Indra nodded. Lexa looked pensive. “And what have you gathered of her in those weeks?”

This was it. The chance that she had been so desperately hoping for. She threw a quick glance to Octavia before speaking. “She has potential, Heda. She already has training in fighting, she did martial arts in her youth, but I know that… if given the chance, she would make a great warrior. A wolf.”

Lexa tilted her head. “You speak high of her.” She noted.

“She has proved herself. I do not give empty praise.”

Anya’s lip curled upwards. “You really don’t.”

Indra reigned in on the desire to slap the upside of her head. Barely.

“I speak true, Heda.” Indra went on, ignoring Anya. She paused then. But she rallied herself, drew herself up. “If able, I would take her as my second.”

Lexa’s brow quirked. “You would take that responsibility? She would be newly turned, as you know. It is a large adjustment. If you were to take her as your second you would make an oath to stand with her.”

“I understand and accept that, Heda.” Indra replied.

Lexa’s features were as difficult to read as they always were, but Indra knew Lexa well. She could see that she was leaning her way now. Lexa took a sudden step forward then and it was almost amusing how everyone tensed. They needn’t have bothered however, because Lexa’s movements, while still holding that slow, near predatory pace, were light, and were not an effort to intimidate.

She came forward until she stood directly in front of Octavia. Indra thought that if she could Octavia would have stood up, but with her leg and the fact that she was definitely going to pass out in the next hour, there was no way, nor point, for her to attempt to stand up to her.

“You have learnt a lot today Octavia.” Lexa started, and Indra held her breath, knowing what was coming. This was it. “I suppose it is not any day that you discover another species.”

Octavia gulped under Lexa’s drilling gaze. Indra saw though that she held her ground, if somewhat shakily. She may be trembling under Lexa’s glare but she kept her back as straight as it could be, considering. “Werewolves,” Octavia replied, though it seemed more a question than anything. Normally Indra would have confirmed for her but she knew this was not her time to speak.

Lexa was already nodding anyway. “Yes. Werewolves. I know that human’s have many preconceptions about the nature of werewolves. What we are, what we can do. And while most is inaccurate, some is correct.” She considered her carefully. “Do you know what happens when a human is bitten by a werewolf?”

Octavia wasn’t well versed enough to hide away the fear and unease on her face. “Yes.” She whispered. Lexa took another step closer.

“I will give you a choice Octavia. Indra has vouched for you, which is no small feat. She seems to believe you could be great. That you would accept a new life, you would not betray us for your own gain. I do not believe so. But I am willing for it to be proven.”

Anya had been standing stiffly, but at Lexa’s words her eyes briefly met Indra’s. There was a question there, and it dipped dangerously into the territory of accusation. Indra narrowed her eyes at her.

Lexa lowered her voice. “It is no easy thing, the life of a werewolf. You would most likely die at a much younger age. You would be involved within a pack—you would have to pull your own, _prove_ your own. Your entire life would need to be remodelled. You may even become involved in pack wars. Of course, you will be faster, stronger, superior in your senses…” Lexa slowly crouched down so they were eyelevel. “But there are risks. There are dangers. Once you accept it you cannot turn back; there is no second chance.”

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath now.

Lexa leant that inch closer. “Would you accept?”

Octavia was shaking. Indra didn’t know whether it was because she was bitten or if it was just Heda’s doing alone. Perhaps it was both. The moment stretched on like a rubber band being pulled to its limit, and the tension rose with the passing breaths to a point where Indra even thought there’d be an audible _snap_ when it was done. Indra watched Octavia with hawk eyes, but Octavia didn’t meet her gaze, instead levelling with Lexa’s.

“I accept.”

Indra closed her eyes and released her held breath.

They opened in time to see Lexa standing up, nodding at Octavia’s answer and stepping back. “Then welcome. The full moon is tonight. You will be turning at moonrise. It is not a painless process, but… I’m sure that Indra will guide you through.”

There was a beat of silence before Anya spoke up. “And what of Lincoln, Alpha?”

Indra dragged her gaze to look to Lincoln. He seemed relieved that Octavia was going to survive as well, but with the sudden crash back to reality any flash of warmth left his features like air being sucked out of a vacuum. She wasn’t sure on what would happen with Lincoln. His actions hadn’t been intentional, which should save him from being killed, but he still committed treason. He turned someone without the Alpha’s permission.

But Indra also knew that Lincoln was practically family with Lexa, they all were. Indra knew that Lexa wasn’t foolish enough to let that stop her from doing what needed to be done, but she feared how this would affect her.

Eventually Lexa just ground her teeth. “We will deal with him at home. Anya, get them into the car. Indra, I wish to speak with you.”

While Anya glared at her for being made chaperone, she didn’t complain, and it was only with an aggravated sigh that she nodded and complied with her orders wordlessly. Indra watched as Lexa pulled herself away and she knew that she had to follow her. She glanced to Octavia first though, finding she was already staring at her. Indra clasped her shoulder.

“You will survive, Octavia. You are strong. Do not doubt.” She squeezed her shoulder firmly. “You are one of us now, and you will be treated as such. You will trust Anya.”

With that she left her side and went to follow Lexa. They didn’t go far, just enough that they were out of immediate earshot. It didn’t really matter too much anyway as Indra could hear Octavia’s grunts and Anya’s cursing as she helped them move. It would have been amusing if she weren’t still running with adrenaline with all that had happened.

“I am trusting your judgment immensely, Indra.” Lexa muttered quietly. They stood near the office, facing each other. “Do not let it be in vain.”

Indra softened her stance. “She is strong, Lexa. Special. She will prove herself.”

Lexa almost seemed to smile then, which Indra found quite strange. “I can understand that.” She conceded. There was a tone to her voice that Indra couldn’t quite place. The smile was quick to fall though. “She cannot run with us tonight. You will need to stay back with her at the house. She is your second, it is your responsibility to aid her with her turning.”

Indra dipped her head. “ _Sha. Ai get em in.”_

“Good. I will lead the pack then on the run tonight.”

Indra couldn’t help but perk up. The corners of her lips tugged into a smile. “You truly will run then?”

Lexa glared at her, but it was good-natured. “I had already said I was going to.”

“You did, but I had doubts.”

Lexa huffed. “Careful with your words.” She warned, but they were said with a tone of lightness that took away any heat.

Indra played along, dipping her head and raising her hands. “ _Sha Heda._ ” She placated and Lexa in a rare show rolled her eyes.

Indra was about to pull away, knowing the conversation was done when she paused, frowning slightly as she caught a scent in her nose she hadn’t expected. She leant forward towards Lexa, and ignoring Lexa’s suspicious questioning of her name, Indra’s eyes blew wide when she realised what she’d smelt.

“Did the mutt scent mark you?” she asked bewildered, and she thought she was hallucinating when Lexa actually _blushed_.

Lexa stepped back, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. “I was training with her before I came here. The full moon meant it was… more intensive than usual. We fought,” she rushed to add, which made Indra bite back a smile. Lexa cleared her throat awkwardly. “That is how her scent is… on me.”

“Of course.” Indra said. She couldn’t help the small tendrils of dread that rose up within her however. Her face became serious. “Lexa, if there is something—“

“There is nothing. We need to get back. We must prepare for tonight.”

Before Indra could get another word in Lexa was spinning on her heel and walking away. She didn’t know whether to feel amused or fearful. She had thought that Lexa was just being honourable with her actions concerning the mutt, but perhaps…

No. Lexa would never.

So with a sigh, Indra grit her teeth and followed after her.

-

“Honey, I’m home!”

Raven’s call echoed through the apartment as she closed the door behind her. She walked further in and glanced down into the living room to see Clarke in sweats and a baggy shirt, lying on the couch and reading a book.

Clarke looked up and smirked. “Hey sweetheart,” she played along. “How was your day, love?”

“Was wonderful my dear.” Raven grinned. She kicked her off her shoes and dropped them haphazardly in to the side. Clarke saw and narrowed her eyes but didn’t say anything. Raven figured she’d fix it up later. “You been sleeping all day I take it?”

Raven veered off to the kitchen instead of slumping immediately on the couch. She would have, but she was hungry after barely eating all day. She had gotten so sucked up with everything—ALIE really was everything and more—that she’d forgotten to have lunch.

“Indeed. There’s leftover stir-fry near the back. Got bored,” Clarke off-handily mentioned and Raven gasped with her excitement. She eagerly swung open the fridge and shuffled through its contents. She could practically _hear_ Clarke roll her eyes. “You and food.” She muttered. “You’re worse than _me_.”

“Even I’m not that bad Griffin,” Raven retorted, finally snagging the leftovers and piling a healthy dose into a bowl. She put it in the microwave and let herself lean against the kitchen counter. She glanced over to Clarke as it heated up, and despite their playful banter she watched her a moment, taking note of her state. She didn’t seem as lethargic as this morning. There were the usual bags under her eyes, but it didn’t seem as bad, and there was less tension in her shoulders.

The microwave dinged and Raven sighed with her relief. Her stomach grumbled at the gorgeous smell, and even Clarke turned her head when she grabbed the bowl and snatched a fork, dropping down by her side. She took a bite and groaned.

“You’re a wonderful husband Clarke.” She grinned at her through a full mouth.

Clarke threw a glare at her. “I’m issuing a divorce.”

“I’m taking the kids then.” Raven easily replied, to which Clarke raised her brow.

“We don’t have kids.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?”

Clarke’s straight face didn’t last long and soon a smile was breaking through. She shook her head at her and playfully swatted her shoulder. “You’re lucky you’re smart Raven.”

She decided not to reply to that and simply went back to her food. She felt Clarke’s eyes linger a moment on her before they returned back onto her book, and after a quick check with Clarke that it was fine she grabbed the remote and put on the TV. She watched whatever was on and let herself unwind from the day. She truly _did_ have a good today, but it was also exhausting the sheer pace and level that she worked at now. She loved it, definitely, but it was still tiring. It was nice to just lay back and enjoy some mindless television.

When she was done she dumped the empty bowl in the sink and fell back into the couch. She turned off the TV and glanced to Clarke. While she could see that she had a book in her hands and was staring at the pages, Raven also noticed that the page number had yet to change since she’d seen it when she had first sat down.

“You know, if you’re having trouble reading, I can read it out for you.”

Clarke looked up and narrowed her eyes, but Raven just arched a brow, pointedly glancing to the book she most definitely wasn’t reading in her hands. When Clarke continued to remain silent Raven sighed. “It’s one down, at least. You only got tonight and tomorrow left.”

Clarke clenched her jaw, yet this time she actually conceded and put the book down. She looked away briefly, and Raven followed her line of sight to the open window off to the left of the TV, revealing ominous darkening skies. The sun wasn’t yet down but it was on the way. They probably only had a couple hours left. Maybe less. Clarke’s gaze was slow to tear off from it, and when she met her eyes again Raven was surprised to see her looking so anguished.

Not that it wasn’t common, because especially around the full moon it was—it brought up bad memories, for both of them—but there was something odd in the sorrow that she couldn’t quite place. Raven’s brow creased. “What is it?”

Clarke swallowed heavily. “You remember Lexa, yeah?”

Raven scoffed. “Uh, yeah? ‘Course I do. Hot Werewolf Girlfriend. I remember her.”

Clarke shot her a glower but it was quick and faded fast. She fidgeted with her hands. “She invited me to run with her.”

“Run?” Raven repeated, her frown deepening. “Like…?”

“Like _run_ run. Like to meet with her and her pack at moonrise and… shift with them.”

Raven blinked at her, her jaw dropping slightly. “But we went to the usual place last night? You turned in your cage.”

Clarke averted her gaze. “I know.” She said quietly. She sighed through her nose and shut her eyes, throwing her head back into the couch. “I _know_.”

Raven shuffled a little closer. “Did you…” she paused briefly, wondering how she should word it. It was well known that Clarke was more volatile during her turning days, and she had to make a conscious effort to hold back on her insults, especially the more harsh ones. Past experience taught her to be careful. “Did you want to go? Do you still want to?”

Clarke was silent a while before she murmured an answer. “I want to.” She whispered, and her voice was so soft Raven had to lean closer to catch it. Her eyes flickered open and stared up at the ceiling. “But what I want and… what I have to do.” She grit her teeth. “It’s not the same thing.”

“You haven’t told her yet? How your wolf is—?”

“No.” Clarke cut off. She tilted her head so their stares met. “No. I haven’t.”

“Why not?” Raven pushed. Clarke opening up was a rare thing, and she was going to milk the situation for all it was worth. She had a habit of bottling and repressing things until they reached a breaking point. A situation that Raven would very much like to avoid.

That anguish came again. It set itself on her features in the way that Raven hated was familiar. “I would hurt her. She may be able to control what she is; I can’t. I’d probably try and kill her, her pack.” Clarke shrugged as if her words casual and didn’t hold the obvious pain it did. “I’d either kill her, or she would kill me. It doesn’t matter how much she… it doesn’t matter. It’s too dangerous.”

“But if you could, if you had the control, you would.”

Clarke looked away again. When Raven followed it she saw she was staring at the painting she’d done of those eyes weeks ago. They’d hung it up on the wall, and like before Raven got that feel as if they were staring her down, a predator so sure in its power. “Yeah.” Clarke eventually answered, her voice low and soft. “In a heartbeat.”

They fell back into silence. Raven was both confused and fascinated to learn that Clarke’s wolf was different. All she knew on werewolves was what they’d gathered through the internet and movies, but also on Clarke herself, as that was what Raven had based all her knowledge on. She may be an engineer that worked with technology, but Clarke’s biology was equally interesting. She was an entire different species. To know there was _more_ —that there were variations of that—there was so much it could mean.

Raven had been staring at nothing, caught up in her musings when Clarke spoke again. “I know about the bullet you know.” She murmured and Raven’s head snapped up. Clarke was staring at her intently, and there was something notably harder in her gaze. “That Octavia found it.”

Raven shifted uncomfortably from her spot on the couch. “Clarke—“

“She came to me a week ago. Asked if we were in trouble, why you had a bullet in your room—a used one—a _silver_ used one.” Though Clarke was still lying down, her back resting against the pillows as a backrest, her relaxed posed was deceiving. There was nothing relaxed in her tone. In the tightness around her eyes.

Raven stopped herself from shifting again. “But you didn’t… you didn’t tell her, right?”

“No, I didn’t. But that choice shouldn’t have come.” Clarke suddenly closed her eyes then, exhaling a long breath. “Look, you’re smart Raven. When I told you to not keep the bullet in your pocket I _know_ you know that I didn’t mean to leave it in plain sight. Just,” she pulled herself up, opened her eyes and looked to her with a furrowed brow. Raven realised there was more confusion than anger. “Why?”

And Raven pulled in a shaky breath. She couldn’t take the intensity in her gaze and dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap; she hadn’t noticed she was fidgeting. There was a reason it had been out in the open. But she really didn’t want to go there—she really fucking didn’t—but considering that Clarke was definitely _not_ going to let this go, it didn’t feel like she had a choice.

She swallowed, and it felt like her throat was blocked with sand.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” She whispered. A shuddered puff of air escaped her. “I keep… I keep thinking, wondering, if my shot had been just a little ways off. It was close. I could have gotten your heart. I could have…” she glanced up then, blinking away the stinging behind her eyes. That previous harshness in Clarke’s features was fading rapidly, being replaced with a sympathy that had Raven stiffening and suddenly jumping to her feet.

“I shot you Clarke.” Raven snapped. She paced in the small space, her hands twitching in their agitation at her sides. “I nearly died. And I can’t—I can’t stop looking at that _damn_ bullet. What if I’d killed you? What if I’d seriously killed you?”

“But you didn’t,” Clarke reminded, getting to her feet as well. She approached her and Raven came to an abrupt halt. Clarke didn’t reach for her though, even if her hand rose only to fall. “You didn’t Raven. I’m here. _You’re_ here. You made the right call.”

“And how long until the next one?” Raven growled. She threw up her arms. “Huh? How long until I _do_ end up killing you? Or—or you kill someone else, and we just land in this shitty cycle again and again. Goddamn it we can’t—“ she turned around and forced herself to take a steadying breath, staring up to the ceiling to keep the tears in. Her eyes fluttered close and sighed. “We can’t keep doing this. This was meant to be a temporary fix.”

She was met with silence. Raven growled again in frustration and opened her eyes. Slowly she turned around, watching Clarke as she stood so unsurely, as if the ground was riddled with cracks and she was struggling to keep balance. Clarke blinked a few times, glancing to the floor and pulling in a breath before looking up again.

“It’ll be different, it’ll _get_ different.” Though her words were whispered they still held a conviction that Raven tried to believe. “I’m not… I’ve got Lexa now. I’m not alone, _we’re_ not alone—the weight isn’t yours to shoulder by yourself anymore.”

“You’ve only known her a month.” Raven countered in a whisper. “And out of everyone, she’s probably most likely to kill you. Do you really feel safe with her?”

Clarke’s throat bobbed, but she looked steadier than before. “Yeah. I do.”

Raven sighed. She took a few steps towards her. “I know you’re still haunted with what happened with… with _him_. But you can’t keep running from it, Clarke. It’s been years.”

“What do you want me to do, Rae? It’s not like I can see a therapist or something.” She scoffed and shook her head. “I’d have to walk in and admit to _murder_. It wouldn’t end well.”

“It wasn’t murder,” Raven refuted quietly, and like always Clarke clenched her jaw and looked away. She dared another step closer. “You’re traumatised, alright? And that’s okay. But how much longer can we keep running from this Clarke?”

Clarke’s eyes drifted to the painting again. She stared at it for a heavy beat before returning to meet Raven’s gaze. “I’ll find a way. Maybe… maybe I can find some werewolf psych or something.”

Raven couldn’t stop the snort from escaping then. The tension between them eased slightly. The seconds dragged on as they eyed each other, both apprehensive on how to move on from here, but eventually Raven’s shoulders slacked and she came forward with her arms out.

“Come on then wolfie. Give mamma a hug.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at her but complied, coming forward and meeting her embrace. They held each other tightly and Raven for once allowed herself to wilt slightly, for her eyes close and her breath to come shaky. She felt Clarke hold her even tighter then, even heard the soft rumble that was oddly calming. It vibrated through her.

“We should probably get rid of the bullet.” Clarke whispered into her shoulder. Raven pulled out of the hug and stepped back, watching Clarke and noticing how, despite everything and what she was, she looked nervous even. Clarke shifted on her feet. “I know you want to keep for… sentimentality, but, maybe it’s doing more harm than good.”

Raven knew she was right. It didn’t stop the twisting in her chest though. “Probably.” She muttered.

Clarke’s eyes flicked over her. “I’ll take it with me when we go out tonight. Bury it in the forest somewhere.”

Raven furrowed her brow. “ _You’ll_ bury it? It’s silver, Clarke. It’ll sting your hands.”

“I’ll wear gloves.”

Raven glared at her. “I can bury it fine.”

Clarke sighed. “And if you remember where you buried it, then that defeats the purpose.”

Raven narrowed her eyes at her and could feel her jaw straining, but eventually she just gave up. She had a feeling that Clarke wasn’t going to budge an inch on this, and well, sometimes it does better to pick your battles. Starting a potentially escalating argument with a werewolf on the night of the full moon was definitely on the _worse_ side of ideas.

“Well, I’m going to go double check my bag for tonight and then we’ll go.”

Raven figured that Clarke didn’t really need to do that, but it was clear she was trying to at least ease some of that tension between them. Outbursts were rare, for the both of them, so Raven wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to deny the offered way out.

“I’ll check the steaks then.” Raven said, and they both lingered a beat before nodding to each other and Clarke quietly slipped past her. Raven’s stare remained on her until she saw Clarke disappear up the stairs. Only then did all the tension drain out of her and she stumbled slightly as she sank onto the armrest of the couch. “Goddamn it.” She mumbled to herself. She was ashamed this was affecting her like this. But she couldn’t stop it, no matter how much she growled at herself in the mirror or whispered reassurances at three a.m.

Eventually she figured she probably _should_ actually check that everything was ready. She drifted to the fridge, opening it to make sure there was no meat left. Of course there wasn’t—Clarke had been cooped up here all day, she probably had everything done hours ago—but still Raven double-checked the esky as well. It was all in order.

Raven was just about to call Clarke down so they could start the drive to the forest when she heard the front door unlock. She frowned, pausing from where she had just picked up the esky. Slowly she placed it back down, and though her heart suddenly kicked up a notch she kept herself from outwardly panicking, instead grabbing a wet knife from the dish rack by the sink and slowly emerging out from the kitchen.

When she saw who it was her entire body slumped with her relief. “Fucking hell O, don’t scare me like that,” she scolded, scowling at the younger girl as she put the knife back. She casually strode over to her, well intended on continuing her scolding with a few choice insults when she froze. Her frown returned as she stared at Octavia.

She was stood dead still, looking at her like a deer caught in the headlights. “O?” Raven questioned, not understanding why Octavia looked so nervous. Maybe even the slightest bit _afraid_. “What’s up with you?”

Octavia’s jaw opened then closed. Her eyes flicked around the apartment in a frantic pace. “I-I left my bag here the other day,” she answered, clearing her throat. “Still got a house key.”

Raven glared at her. “Something I’ll be amending soon.”

Octavia didn’t laugh at her joke, nor did she sling back an insult at her like she normally would. Instead she looked around the room again, her eyes drifting up and settling on upstairs, before her throat bobbed and she seemed to shake her head at herself.

“You know what? Forget it, I don’t need it. I’ll get it another day. It’s fine.”

Raven’s frown deepened. “O, what’s going on?”

But Octavia just shook her head again. She was already backtracking towards the front door. “It’s fine. I had some clothes, but I’ll get them tomorrow. Bye Raven.”

“Octavia wait—“ Raven lunged forward just as Octavia swung the door open. She grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. Raven was surprised at feeling the hardness of her muscle. “Octavia, what the hell is up with you? Why are you being so weird?”

Octavia tried to free herself from her grip but Raven just held tighter.

“ _Octavia_.”

“It’s nothing Raven let me go—“

“Why are you being so _weird_ just talk to me—“

“—I said let me _go_ —“

“—will you just fucking—“

“Hey!” Raven suddenly felt someone grab her _own_ elbow and lug her back. She continued her hold on Octavia though, and so she was pulled back with her. She turned her head to see Clarke behind her, her evidently being the one behind the pull, and with a grateful look at her she pulled her arm out of Clarke’s grip.

Raven shut the door before Octavia could jump out again. “Alright then,” she let out a sigh. “You going to stop being weird now Octavia?”

But Octavia didn’t even look to her. She was staring at Clarke, and by the way her entirety was frozen Raven thought she wasn’t even breathing. Her gaze shifted to Clarke and she was more than surprised to see her looking the same, but she was staring at her with a furrowed brow, as if trying to figure something out.

Raven looked between the two of them. “Are you two about to kiss or…?”

Clarke blinked suddenly. She took a noticeable sniff of the air and stumbled back like she’d been physically hit. “No,” she breathed, every trace of colour draining from her face. “ _No_.”

“It’s true,” Octavia whispered, her voice equally as shocked, though far less betrayed. Her eyes were wide. “You really are one. That’s… that’s why you came here isn’t it? Because you were…”

Clarke’s breathing was starting to quicken. Raven had absolutely no clue what was happening. She had no idea why Clarke looked so utterly _devastated_. “What the fuck is going on right now?” she snapped, and finally it seemed to gather at least one of theirs attention. Octavia glanced to her, she was looking a little pale too, blinking rapidly. She opened her mouth but before she could say anything Clarke interrupted.

“Turned.” Clarke muttered, and Raven’s head whipped around to her. “She’s been turned.” She repeated. Raven felt her blood run cold.

“She… what? No, that can’t—“ she snapped back around to look to Octavia, to hear her deny it, but she was still staring at Clarke as if everything was finally staring to make sense. Raven stepped back from her. “But, we saw you, we _saw_ you. On Wednesday, th—three days ago. And unless Clarke you’ve been holding this from me which I swear to fucking god if you have—“

“She wasn’t.” Octavia cut off. They both gawked at her, too stunned to do anything but just stare. Her sight jumped between them.

“When?” Clarke asked, and Raven hadn’t heard her voice sound so thoroughly destroyed in a long time.

Octavia’s brow creased. “Yesterday,” she replied. She looked between them again. “Look I know that it’s sudden, and all, but why are you acting so… I don’t know.” Her frown grew harder. “I mean, I was told not to come here until the full moon passes but I don’t get it. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

“ _Happy_?” Clarke echoed in disbelief, and that shock was beginning to dissolve into fury.

Raven stepped forward between them. Her hand shot up and hovered just a bit away from Clarke’s chest. She wouldn’t dare to touch her right now in fear of setting her off, but she could get close. “Chill,” she insisted, raising a brow pointedly. “The moon is coming soon wolfie. We can’t delay much longer.”

A surprised laugh sounded from behind her. “ _That’s_ why you started calling wolfie!” Octavia realised. Raven offered her a weak smile. She felt like she was toeing a tightrope over a pitiless abyss.

“It was the better of the nicknames,” Raven smirked. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. “Now come on, this is something we will deal with—don’t think for a _second_ you are not getting an in-depth interrogation—but it will have to wait until tomorrow. Since apparently _both_ of you will be growing fur in an hour, we need to go. Now.”

Her words proved to have little effect however. “Who bit you?” Clarke asked, and the coldness in her voice, that underlying threat had the hairs rising on Raven’s arms. Clarke pulled her lip back. “Was it Lexa?”

Octavia blinked at her. “No, no, it wasn’t her,” she answered, and Raven audibly sighed in her relief. Thank fuck. She didn’t want to think of the fallout that would follow that. Apparently Clarke had found trust in Lexa, if she had gone and broken it to such a degree; Raven shuddered to think of the violence that would follow.

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “But it was her pack.” She muttered.

Octavia seemed to be mounting up with her own anger as well. “So what if it was? You’re acting like it’s the end of the world or something. Frankly, I’m more pissed that _you_ never told me that you were a werewolf. We’re best friends Clarke,” her voice became soft. “I thought you could trust me.”

Clarke stepped back. She was clenching her jaw so hard Raven was surprised her teeth didn’t shatter. “It wasn’t about trust. Humans aren’t meant to know.”

“Raven knows,” Octavia countered.

“Raven found out by accident.” Clarke immediately retorted. Raven noticed her hands were balled into trembling fists at her sides. “You shouldn’t have been turned Octavia. You don’t deserve that.”

Octavia stiffened. “What, you think I’m not strong enough? Just because I’m younger than you?” she growled, baring her teeth at her. “What gives you the right to think you’re so better that you can be a wolf and I can’t?”

Clarke blinked at her, confusion dulling the previous anger. “Octavia I’m sorry for you,” she said slowly. “I’m not… I’m not calling you weak. You’ve been bitten, O. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

Now Octavia was the one staring confused. Raven had an ominous feeling tug at her gut. She didn’t like where this was going. “Guys I think we should—“

“For real?” Octavia went on, ignoring Raven’s attempt. “What are you talking about? Why _wouldn’t_ you want to be one?”

“You’ve been a werewolf a _day_ Octavia. You have no idea what you have been forced into.”

“And a day is long enough.” Octavia snapped, stepping forward and making Raven back up, still standing as a wedge between them. She raised a hand and held one in front of Octavia, keeping her other on Clarke.

“ _Guys_. Leave this. This seriously isn’t the time.”

“I’m faster than ever before.” Octavia came forward again until Raven’s hand was pressing against her chest to keep her back. Her eyes didn’t shift off of Clarke. “I’m stronger, it’s incredible Clarke, don’t you feel that? I have stamina like never before, I can see in dark, hear and smell things from miles away—“

“Octavia stop,” Raven pleaded, feeling her blood grow icier with every passing word. Clarke could hide it all she wanted, but Raven knew her; she had been there for nearly every step of Clarke’s coming into a werewolf. And she knows, without a doubt, just how much she despises it.

But Octavia didn’t listen to her, seeming to not take notice of how quiet Clarke was being. “This is a _gift_ Clarke. How can you not be happy for me about this? You should be grateful for what you are.”

Raven sucked in a sharp breath.

_Shit._

“Grateful? You want me to be _grateful_?” Clarke repeated, slowly stepping back. It felt like the temperature of the room had dropped. All that fury came rushing back, coiling in her rising shoulders and exposed teeth.

Raven backed away. “Clarke,” she breathed, but she might as well have spoken to the wind. It got lost to the pain that was steadily revealing itself on her features. It was near audible, that second right where she snapped, right where every piece of restraint was finally abandoned.

“Should I be grateful for the pain I am forced to carry around? That I cannot even be alone in the same room with someone _bleeding_ because I would tear them apart? That I had to abandon fucking med school because I would have slaughtered _every_ damn patient in the fucking hospital?”

Her breathing was getting harder and faster, her voice becoming more a snarl as she drew herself up. Raven could feel Octavia dead still beside her, shocked and terrified of what she was seeing.

But Clarke wasn’t done. “Should I be _grateful_ , that every time I close my eyes I see his face? That I can tell you how it felt to rip into the man I loved’s body, the taste of his goddamn flesh!” her voice cracked tragically then, tears slipping from her eyes even as she looked like she was fighting in a losing war. “So don’t you dare, don’t you fucking _dare_ tell me to be grateful! How the fuck do you think Finn died?”

Raven heard Octavia’s sharp inhale. When she looked at her she saw she was shaking. “Finn wasn’t… they said it was an animal attack…” her voice trailed off as the realisation hit.

Clarke gave her a sharp smile with such sadness Raven felt like she’d been stabbed in the chest. “Yeah, it was an animal alright. How the hell do you think it got in? We lived in the suburbs O. The _suburbs_.” She shook her head and more tears fell. “He didn’t even fight back you know. Because he knew it was me. He fucking knew. He did nothing as I ripped him limb from limb.”

Octavia was panting as if she had been the one who had shouted the words. Clarke’s chest was rising up and down fast, way too fast; her clenched fists were shaking violently at her sides. She looked about one breath away from exploding. But Clarke seemed to realise this too, because before Raven could issue a warning Clarke’s face were pulling into a snarl and she was spinning around and throwing her fist into the wall. There was a heavy _crack_ and Raven saw that Clarke’s fist hadn’t just gone in—it had done through—her hand buried to the wrist in the brick.

“Clarke, you need to breathe,” Raven tried, watching with panicked eyes as Clarke continued to stand there with her back turned and fist in the wall, her shoulders pumping fast with the frantic pace of her breaths.

“You killed Finn,” Octavia breathed. “You actually—“

Clarke ripped her hand out of the wall. She turned around slowly, and Raven felt like she’d been kicked in the gut when she saw that her eyes weren’t blue anymore. The yellow burned brightly, her teeth still bared and a low growl so intense Raven could nearly feel it vibrate through her body. She felt Octavia stagger back at the sight but when Clarke took a step forward Raven blindly grabbed the neck of Octavia’s shirt and pulled her to the side with her.

She knew Clarke was aiming for the door, and while Raven was seriously praying that Clarke wouldn’t do it; she wasn’t suicidal enough to stand in the way. “Clarke stop, if you go after them you will  _die_. You will be outnumbered in seconds. Everyone will be shifting—including you—and if we don’t haul ass to the car  _now_  you won’t make it to your cage in time.”

Clarke let out a snarl that had Raven flinching and backing up again. And though there was a beat where she paused, and Raven thought she had managed to calm her enough to see reason, that fantasy was soon shattered when Clarke lunged forward and slammed her shoulder into the door, splintering apart the lock and bolting the second she was able.

“Shit!” Raven cursed, raising her arm to avoid the shower of splinters. The door swung limply, tilted at an awkward angle against the hinge. She didn’t hesitate however to burst after her and shove open the door, stumbling out in time to see Clarke roughly pushing open her way into the emergency stairs. Raven ran after her and it wasn’t long till she heard Octavia’s steps echoing behind her. The door was still closing in on itself as Raven mimicked Clarke’s actions and smashed her weight into it. She ignored the burst of the pain from how heavy it was.

The staircase was all stone steps, lined by a single metal rail that followed and spiralled down. There was a gap down the middle that was just big enough to fit a person, and she saw with some horror as Clarke grabbed the rail and vaulted over, disappearing down. Raven felt like her lungs had collapsed on her as she lurched forward and hastily peered over the rail. She saw a blur of blond and then a loud  _thud_  that echoed sharply up the staircase.

Clarke had landed on in a roll. She glanced up once—those yellow eyes searing into Raven, slowly fading back to blue—before she was off running again.

Raven turned around and swore. Octavia stood wide-eyed behind her.

“What the hell was that?” Octavia snapped at her. Raven didn’t have time and simply ignored her.

She wasted a moment to scramble back into the apartment and snatched the car keys off the kitchen counter. “Come on, we’ll have to drive, hopefully we’ll get there before her.” Raven strode past the stunned Octavia and headed for the stairs once more. They didn’t have time to wait for the elevator. She frowned when she didn’t feel Octavia behind her. “O, what are you doing over there? Come  _on_  we need to go.”

Octavia was paler than Raven had ever seen her. “Raven, what—what the  _fuck_  was that? Her eyes they were…”

Raven growled under her breath and came forward, snatching her elbow and hastily tugging her towards her. “ _Later_  Octavia. If we don’t get to Clarke in time then she’s dead. In her state she’ll probably do something stupid like try to attack the entire goddamn pack.” She shoved open the staircase door again, her hand staying in a white-knuckled grip on Octavia’s arm. “So we’ll talk about her eyes later. Do you know where the pack house whatever is?”

Octavia blinked at her. It was clear she did not  _at all_  want to let what had happened go, but something hardened in her features because she nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Are you sure she’ll go there?”

Their steps bounced off the walls as they descended the stairs.

Raven grit her teeth.

“Better damn well pray she will, otherwise she’s dead.”

-

It would be starting soon.

There wasn’t long left. She could practically taste it in the air, the anticipation, the tension that ran through like a live wire, one foot tipping over an edge and already feeling that pulling’s of gravity. Less than hour. Down to the minutes. The moon would rise and she’d be running with her pack. She should be excited, should be vibrating with eager energy like everyone else.

But Lexa stood there staring out into the darkening gaps between the tree trunks. Her fingers tapping her thigh in a repetitive rhythm. Every time there was a flicker in the shadows her breath would catch, she’d hold it captive in her throat; but then she’d see it was just the playing’s of the wind, a possum skittering through, and she would pretend her heart didn’t sink.

“Heda,” Anya called from behind her. “It’s nearly time. We should move in further to the woods.”

Lexa sighed. She tapped her thigh faster. “There is still time.” She murmured, a weak excuse, and by the annoyed exhale from Anya clearly she thought so too.

“What are you waiting for?” Anya asked, and she sounded closer now. Lexa was still looking out into the woods.

Back to the where the house was.

She paused. Eyes flicking over the same still scene as if it was going to change, when really she knew damn well it would not.

“Nothing.” Lexa eventually said. Her fingers stopped drumming against her leg, and instead she forced a breath through her nose and let her hands relax. She glanced over her shoulder and met Anya’s gaze. “Nothing. Let’s move.”

She didn’t know why she had expected her to come. She hadn’t come yesterday, so why would she today? And Clarke had told her anyway, those two weeks ago at the club. She wouldn’t come. She wouldn’t. So why was she expecting any different?

The moment Lexa was walking the rest of her pack jumped to the feet. They stood tall, though their limbs nervously twitched at their sides, no doubt excited that they’d be running soon and with Lexa as their alpha. They were more subdued then yesterday at least, as that was the first time in a long time that she actually ran and led them under the moon. But it was still clear that they were ecstatic at having her back again.

They fell in line behind her. Anya came up to her shoulder, Indra drifted a couple paces behind, the remaining following behind them. It was slightly calming at least, a knot loosening in her chest. They didn’t speak as they pushed further into the woods. The only sounds was the soft chirping of the crickets, the occasional harmonic call of a bird—though they were fast dissolve, as the birds often made habit of getting far away from the pack of predators below—and even the rustle of the leaves.

It should have made her feel at ease. But every chirp was shrill and grated against her, made the tension coil in her shoulders. It was irritation mostly, primarily directed at herself. She didn’t know why she kept bringing her hopes up if only for them to be crushed.

Lexa slowed as she entered into a small clearing. A bead of sweat rolled down her neck, and suddenly every smell was sharper and every sound clearer. It wasn’t long now. She stopped then, shucking off her jacket and letting it fall to the ground, and with a quick turn around nodded at Indra, who quickly returned the action and stepped back. The rest followed, hauling shirts off of heads and revealing the defined skin below. It gave Lexa a small sense of pride, to see how strong her pack was.

Her eyes slowly flicked to the back of the pack, to where Lincoln was standing a bit away from the others, and she felt the familiar feeling of her heart clenching. Normally he would be standing much closer to her, as she found herself quite close with him. But with what happened with Octavia, she knew it would be a long while until he would build his respect and rank back. It was strange seeing Quint, usually so submissive and subdued, to see him with his head actually raised, standing with the others. The tides had changed it seemed.

Lexa tore her gaze off him when she felt Anya step closer to her. She was still clothed, though now lacking a button down and had on just the shirt that’d been underneath. “Is something wrong, Lexa?” Anya asked her quietly, probably in some vain attempt to imitate privacy. A difficult feat, considering they were in the open and they were werewolves.

But Lexa heard the concern in her voice, in the intensity of her gaze that was rare. Lexa had seen it yesterday, but Anya hadn’t said anything. It seemed it was something that she couldn’t hold in any longer however.

“I’m fine, Anya.” Lexa replied, keeping her voice equally as soft. She doubted that she couldn’t be heard, but most of her pack would refrain from eavesdropping out of respect.

Anya narrowed her eyes at her. “You were like this yesterday as well.” She muttered.

Lexa sighed, kneeling down and untying her shoes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She heard Anya’s scoff, but Lexa kept her eyes on her laces, refusing to glance up and see the inevitable frustration. “Don’t bullshit me, Lexa. You were weird last night too. Nervous and irritable, which, considering your general mood, it isn’t _that_ surprising that you’re irritable—“

Lexa did look up then to scowl at her.

“—but nervous? I haven’t seen you nervous in a long time.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You were tapping your leg.”

“It’s the full moon, Anya. Excess energy.”

“You’re lying.”

She pulled off her shoes perhaps too aggressively, her teeth grinding and making her jaw ache. “ _Shof op_.” She snapped, but this was the wrong response, as when Lexa stood up Anya just looked at her with a raised brow for her outburst. Lexa exhaled sharply though her nose. “Fine. Yes, I am irritated. But not nervous.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “Come on—“

“Pike is getting more suspicious.” Lexa cut off, an edge to her voice that made Anya instantly quieten. “He’s trying to get more involved, and _it_ is irritating. I don’t need any more humans involved in this.”

Anya’s brow twitched. “It’s our case.”

Lexa softened her voice. “And it’s his town. It’s becoming more and more a vendetta for him. That girl that was killed? He’s taking it personally. He will only grow more involved.”

“He hasn’t tried anything has he?” Anya questioned, any annoyance and teasing gone from her tone.

Lexa shrugged. “Not yet.”

Anya looked a little disturbed by that, or more accurately pissed off, but before she could say anything Lexa was suddenly stiffening and her back straightened up. Her head snapped around, and like a domino effect everyone else did too, immediately tensing and adopting a defensive stance.

But Lexa raised a hand in signal to remain. She furrowed her brow and strained her hearing, trying to focus on that snippet of random sound she’d caught; and feeling entirely surprised when it worked and she found it again. There was this energy under her skin that always came before the rise of the full moon, but she felt oddest sensation of it calming ever so lightly, like the roaring of bushfires being reduced to a softer crackle of flame.

Lexa blinked. She recognised that sensation.

Clarke was near.

It wasn’t even a minute later that there was a heavy thud of sprinting feet was heard and she was crashing out into the clearing, stumbling slightly and pulling herself to an abrupt halt at the sight of all of them. Lexa tried to tame that extreme relief and warmth beneath her ribs at seeing her there, knowing she had come.

Except it didn’t take long for Lexa’s half-smile to quickly devolve into a frown. Because something was wrong. Clarke was panting hard, but there was something wild in her eyes, something frenzied in the way her gaze kept flicking between the pack in a near frantic pace, never staying on one for too long. Her hands were tightly clenched fists at her sides.

Lexa stepped forward, as everyone seemed to just be anxiously waiting, unsure on how to proceed with what was happening. “Clarke?” she tried softly, keeping her stance lax. “What is it?”

Clarke’s eyes only lingered on her a moment before shifting off again. Lexa saw she was looking at the pack, and it seemed like she was searching for something, because suddenly she was narrowing her eyes and sniffing the air. It only took a second for it to happen. Clarke’s wild gaze jumped between the pack until it eventually settled on Lincoln, and after remaining on him for long enough that Lexa was about to move and attempt to reach for her, Clarke’s lip was abruptly pulling back and she snarled low.

Lexa burst forward just as Clarke did. She slammed into her hard enough that she was thrown back. Lexa’s shoulder ached, and she watched with wide eyes as Clarke rolled the moment the hit the ground, instantly back up on her feet. Clarke bared her teeth at her but she couldn’t take one step forward without an echoed reaction from Lexa’s pack around her.

Lexa snarled at her own, especially when she saw Tristan clearly readying himself to go for Clarke. They faltered then at least, but her warning wasn’t as well received as it should have been—the moon was coming so soon now, and everyone was already near bursting with energy and aggression. Clarke couldn’t have chosen a worse time to do whatever the fuck she thought she was doing.

“Hey!” Lexa snapped at her, now planted between Clarke and her pack, and though Clarke growled and bent her knees slightly; she didn’t come at her again. Lexa kept a hand raised anyway, feeling her heart slam against her ribcage with a painful intensity. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing, Clarke?”

Clarke’s eyes had been steady on hers, but now they flicked to Lincoln again. Her shoulders rose higher. “He turned her.” She spat. Lexa felt her stomach drop.

She blinked. “You mean Octavia.” She muttered carefully, regretting it slightly when Clarke’s body seemed to coil even tighter with tension. She looked like a bomb about to go off.

“Of course I mean Octavia.” Clarke snarled, taking a step forward only to be forced back at Lexa’s own snarl of warning.

Lexa found herself breathing quicker. She briefly glanced to the side at Indra, as she was sure that Octavia was at the house, or more apparently where she _should_ have been. Lexa already knew the second she had accepted Octavia in that Clarke’s reaction would be less than pleasant. It was why she was wanting to deal with this _after_ the full moon, when everyone was less volatile and prone to violence.

Lexa watched as Indra cursed under her breath.

It seemed she was not the only one misinformed of where Octavia was meant to be.

“This is not the time for this, Clarke.” Lexa said, bringing her sight back to her. “You are not thinking clearly.”

Clarke’s eyes flashed. “You _turned_ her. Was what that you rule you told me was oh so sacred, that you couldn’t turn someone without the Alpha’s permission?”

Lexa ground her teeth. “It was not on purpose. This is not an attack against you.”

But it was the wrong thing to say, as the fury that burned in her being became brighter, her snarl more savage. “An _accident_? You destroyed her life on an _accident_?”

“Enough.” Lexa growled, baring her own teeth at her. Clarke reacted to the challenge by drawing her own self up, and Lexa briefly wondered if they were seriously about to devolve into a fight, if she was going to be forced to subdue. Possibly even kill. “ _Enough_ Clarke,” Lexa breathed, hoping that a softer tone may calm her. She could feel sweat leaking down her neck. “You cannot do this now. We will be shifting in any moment. This will be dealt with in the morning.”

Lexa was more than surprised when her words actually seemed to work. That cloud of anger seemed to clear then, as Clarke blinked slowly at her, taking a step back. “Moonrise,” she whispered, and as if to prove it to herself her head snapped upwards and stared into the skies. Lexa glanced up too, seeing the tiny glittering specks of stars that were out, dark clouds smothering patches of the sky. Behind it all though was the veiled glow of the moon, hidden behind the suffocating clouds.

It started with Tristan. A loud grunt sounded from behind her, and she whipped around to see him drop to one knee. His teeth was gritted, and in a frantic pace he ripped his shirt over his head, revealing the tribal tattoos underneath and the sifting of bone beneath the skin.

Lexa looked back at Clarke and saw nearly all traces of that anger gone now, replaced with nothing but utter terror. “It’s alright,” Lexa assured, realising the threat was passed—for now at least—and instead she had the opportunity she’d been hoping for. “Stay. Shift with us.”

Clarke’s breathing was getting out of control, but before Lexa could try approaching her someone else was suddenly stumbling into the clearing. They came in at the same time that two more of her pack members fell to the ground for the change, and Lexa felt a stab in her own stomach, though she grit her teeth and fought the growing presence back.

Lexa frowned when she saw it was Octavia who had run in; and for some insane reason had Raven clinging onto her back. Octavia was drenched in sweat and panting, and the moment Raven slid off she collapsed into the ground and rolled onto all fours, groaning in what Lexa couldn’t tell was either from exertion or turning.

But while Lexa may have just been confused with Raven’s presence, the rest of her pack were not so calm, as all they saw was a human who had somehow stumbled upon a group of werewolves shifting under a full moon.

It didn’t surprise her this time when Clarke snarled and lunged in front of Raven, cutting off a dive from Tristan, who had just shifted into his wolf. Clarke collided with his form mid-air and they toppled into the ground in a show of dirt and grass, rolling and clawing at each other.

Lexa could feel her control of her pack slipping, and so she drew herself up, feeling her teeth ache as sharp canines pushed themselves out. She let out a roar that was loud enough to startle her pack into stillness, enough so Clarke could shove Tristan’s black wolf off her and stagger back to Raven.

“Raven what the hell are you doing here?” Lexa snarled, hearing another crack and crunch of bone as Indra grunted from behind her, presumably trying to hold off the change.

Raven’s mouth opened but before she could say a word Clarke suddenly cried out and stumbled back, clutching at her stomach. “Shit, it’s already started,” she breathed, just as Octavia let out a scream and her spine jerked upwards, a snout starting to grow from her mouth. “Clarke! Come on, we need to go, if we haul ass we can probably make it—“

“We’re too deep, we’re too far,” Clarke was struggling more and more to breathe, “I can feel it, fuck I can _feel_ it, I’m going to—I’m going to turn right here and—“

Lexa lost the last of her sentence when another stab of pain came at her chest. She could feel her wolf trying so desperately to break out of her skin, but through years of self-control and training she shoved it back, only let herself grunt.

“It’s time,” Anya said from beside her, and that was her last warning before she was staggering back as well and gave in to the change.

Raven grabbed Clarke’s shoulder and pulled her around so she was looking at her. “Hey! Don’t you dare panic here. The warehouse is in the forest, right? Find it. _Find_ it, Clarke. Use whatever fucking sense but just _find it_.”

Lexa frowned as she listened to Raven’s words. “It is too late to run, you cannot outrun the wolf. Clarke should stay—“

“Come on, I’ll jump on your back and you’ll run, okay? Now let’s go, let’s _go_ right fucking now.” Raven urged, and Lexa was more than shocked to see Clarke not even hesitate to nod her head and turn around. Raven jumped up and before Lexa could issue a warning Clarke was already running, away from the sounds of snapping bones that was all Lexa could hear, animalistic grunts and snarls.

And Lexa knew what she had to do, she knew it as she stood there and looked behind at her to pack and to where Clarke had disappeared off. She knew what she _should_ do.

But it wasn’t what she did.

Lexa turned around and locked sights with Indra, the only other left standing and holding off the change. The others were either turning or had just come out of it. Indra seemed to know what she was going to do before she said it. Because her mouth hadn’t even opened before Indra was already closing her eyes with a sigh and stiffly nodding her head.

“Go,” Indra grunted, her body jerking and foot slipping as she held it off. “You say she has no control. We can’t afford another human attack.”

That wasn’t the reason she wanted to go after Clarke. But it sure as hell sounded a lot better than the actual reason, so Lexa simply nodded, offering nothing more before she spun around and bolted for where she’d seen Clarke and Raven escape off to.

It was easy to find her scent. It was one that she often found herself yearning for, no matter how hard she tried to suppress the urge. The trees became blurs at her sides as she sprinted through, dodging branches and foliage and gritting her teeth at the ache in her bones and burning at her skin. She could only hold off her wolf for so long. It was the full moon, today the strongest, and even she would eventually be forced to bend to its will.

Her heart was beating a war drum in her chest, but she felt it stutter in its relief when she started catching new sounds: twigs snapping and thunderous, messy steps, grunts and harsh breathing, enough cursing to make demons cringe. She was catching up. Lexa growled as she pushed herself faster, pumping her thighs until they felt like they were on fire and numb, when an abrupt slam of pain at her legs had them buckling. She crashed into the ground and only just narrowly avoided running face first into a tree.

Lexa clawed her fingers into the dirt, feeling her nails extending themselves. “Not yet,” she snarled at herself, “not yet.”

The pain was still strangling her, but Lexa got up anyway and kept moving.

It was as the trees were starting to thin out that she finally caught sight of Clarke again. It was difficult to see, what with the insane speeds they were both sprinting at and the heavy dark that came so deep in the forest, but still she could make out the shallow red scratches on her arms and legs. Lexa suspected they were both from falling and just carelessly running through.

Lexa was panting hard enough that her head was getting fuzzy, and it seemed only adrenaline and determination was keeping her upright; which meant she nearly toppled over in relief when they came out of the thick of the trees and Clarke actually started to slow down. Her relief was short lived though and rapidly dissolved into confusion, as they skidded to a stop by what looked like a long abandoned warehouse.

Raven slipped off Clarke’s back. The moment her weight was gone Clarke was dropping to her knees, but Raven was already grabbing her arm and trying to pull her up again. “Can’t collapse on me yet, Griffin, up you get.”

Clarke growled at her and Raven quickly let go of her, jumping back. She looked as if she was going to curse at her when she glanced up, and startled at seeing Lexa staring at her.

“How the fuck did you get here?”

Lexa tried desperately to get her breathing back. It only half-worked. “I followed,” she panted, and Raven looked at her like she was crazy. But eventually she just shook her head.

“Alright, whatever. Will you help me then?”

Lexa approached her slowly, keeping Clarke in her periphery. She was still on her knees, hunched over, and by the way her hands were fists digging into her legs she was probably trying to hold off the change. “Help?” Lexa echoed, frowning at her.

Raven glared at her. “Yes, _help_ you moron, considering I’m not a werewolf and messing with Clarke right now is—“

She was cut off by Clarke’s sudden scream. Lexa felt her gut twist painfully and it wasn’t from the need to turn. She was moving before she realised, and when she grasped Clarke’s elbow and pulled her up, though Clarke snarled at her Lexa did it right back. It seemed to make Clarke falter, just enough for Lexa to succeed in hauling her to her feet.

Raven quickly replaced her though, snatching Clarke’s other arm and pulling her towards the warehouse. Lexa hurriedly trailed after them, except right as Raven kicked open the warehouse door and roughly pulled Clarke in, Lexa only just walked through when she suddenly fell to the ground.

She hadn’t felt pain like this in a long while. It had been a long time since she’d needed to hold off turning, and she had forgotten just how _bad_ that agony grew when you fought it off, as the waves of pain became increasingly aggressive.

“Hey! Hot Werewolf Girlfriend! You alright back there?” Raven’s voice echoed in the wide space of the warehouse, bouncing off the metal walls and making it shrill.

Lexa was so thrown by Raven’s address of her however, that she found the pain momentarily muffled, as she was swamped with such confusion that she glanced up. “What did you call me?” she muttered, and realising that her wolf’s attempt to shift was recoiling briefly scrambled back up to two feet.

She stilled when she was finally able to take in just what she had followed them into. The warehouse wasn’t empty, as there was what looked like a boxed room of some kind in the centre, the metal thick and heavy enough that even _Lexa_ doubted she could pull that open. A coldness spread in her gut as she approached it, watching as Clarke waited just off to side of Raven, struggling to stand. Lexa felt a different type of burning enter her veins. She pulled her lip back, her features setting into a dangerous snarl.

“You would _cage_ her?” Lexa hissed, eyes briefly flicking to Clarke at the sound of another pained grunt.

Raven remained with her back to her. She was doing something at the cage; by the sharp _beeps_ she assumed putting in some kind of code. Lexa felt her fury rise higher, felt it harden her shoulders and draw her up. It was without thinking that she came forward, as it angered her far more than it should at the idea of Clarke being that caged—trapped and alone—no wonder she hated turning. The only experience she had had been locked up.

But while Raven might have not being paying attention to her, someone else was, and just as Lexa lunged for her she felt a heavy weight collide into her. It was like being slammed into by a brick wall. She found herself suddenly shoved up against the metal box, a pulsing at the back of her head from where the knockback had hit her. Except the moment Lexa was growling and preparing herself to throw off whoever had her she abruptly realised she was unable to breathe at who was in front her.

It was Clarke, which wasn’t shocking. But the longer she stared at her, at her bared teeth, feeling her low snarl vibrating into her own body, the more Lexa was being hurled into memories she had forced herself to forget.

Yellow. Clarke’s eyes were yellow.

“ _Jusgafen,_ ” Lexa whispered, but Clarke didn’t show any signs of comprehension—not that she expected her too, the last time she’d seen someone in _Jusgafen_ there had been nothing she could do, she could only watch her, one of the few she loved, could only bite back her sobs and—

“Clarke! Clarke, get off her!” Raven yelled from the side, and Lexa was yanked back into reality when she felt Clarke try to push closer into her in some attempt to get at throat. And unlike before, Lexa knew that it wouldn’t end as pleasantly as it had last time. Lexa grunted as she tried to push Clarke back—she desperately tried not to look her in the eyes—but she felt stronger than she usually was, more wild and untamed.

There was a stinging in her eyes that Lexa denied was there. It was years ago. She had moved on. Clarke growled again and pushed harder, their faces were so close now, and all Lexa could see was _her_ ; dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin. It was too much.

Her mental spiral was brought out by the unlikely voice of Raven. “Lexa! It’s Lexa right?”

Lexa blinked. She tried to shove Clarke off her but Clarke just pushed harder. Lexa’s arms were shaking. “What is it, Raven?” Lexa growled, not daring to take her eyes off Clarke.

“Tilt your neck!” Raven shouted her, and Lexa frowned.

“What?”

“Neck, your neck. She’ll back off.”

Lexa’s frown fell into a scowl. “Do you wish me _dead_?” she snapped, finally shifting her gaze to look at Raven.

Raven threw her arms out. “No! But if you don’t you _will_ be, so hurry the fuck up and do it.”

“She is in _Jusgafen_ ,” Lexa denied, already feeling her heart breaking inside. “There is—“

“Clarke’ll never forgive me if I let you die, so tilt your goddamn neck!”

Lexa’s gaze whipped back to Clarke when she heard another snarl come from her. She had gained another inch. Lexa could feel her strength waning in her arms, and even worse a building ache in her bones. Her wolf was going to try to break out again. She didn’t know if she could hold it off this time.

She locked sights with Clarke. Stared into that shade of yellow that had haunted her for years. And even if it went against all her instincts, stiffly and begrudgingly, Lexa complied and revealed her throat. Honestly, she was expecting her to instantly go for the offered weakness.

But Clarke’s growl slowly died off, her grip eased off her. Lexa watched stunned as Clarke’s snarl slipped off her face and she stepped back completely, leaving Lexa standing there with no idea on what had happened. She knew what wolves in _Jusgafen_ were like. Very intimately. She knew they were almost always impossible to break through and that the sign—the biggest, most obvious sign—was the yellow of their eyes.

And she watched as Clarke stepped away, and did nothing but stare at her.

It didn’t last long of course. A few seconds later she was curling over and falling to one knee, a hand sent splayed to the concrete ground. Lexa felt a similar burst of pain at her chest and staggered back, feeling confused when she didn’t run into the wall like she was expecting but _through_. Only now Lexa realised she had previously been pressed up against a massive door.

Lexa groaned as she stumbled for the nearest wall inside, falling into it and feeling the first snap of bone at her arm, bringing a cry out of her. She still managed to survey the new surroundings though, and she was overcome with even more rage at seeing _another_ cage within this one, unable to do anything but watch and grunt as Raven pulled Clarke in and urged her towards it.

“She doesn’t belong in a cage,” Lexa managed to gasp out through the overwhelming agony. The colours of the world were starting to blur out, the vibrant hues beginning to fade, adjusting to a different spectrum. She saw Clarke lose her footing twice as she moved for the row of bars, and while Lexa wanted to selfishly pull her back and into the free air of the forest; she was barely keeping herself upright and couldn’t move.

Raven shoved Clarke in and hastily shut closed the barred door. Clarke’s heavy grunts and snarls echoed in the small space, but when she burst forward with a roar the metal clanged with her impact—but held steady.

Lexa screwed her eyes shut, and unable to stand anymore she fell to the cold floor, her body shuddering with the effort of resisting. She probably only had a minute left at most. She forced her eyes open at the sound of Clarke’s screams. Despite the burning of her blood that came with turning, she felt it run cold at the sheer intensity.

She found herself watching sort of mesmerised as Clarke crumbled to the floor. She didn’t bother trying to pull off her shirt but just straight ripped it in two. Her body jerked roughly with the change, harsh and fast and utterly brutal, and Lexa realised she had never seen a turning as savage as this.

It was only now that Lexa was starting to understand that something was wrong. Because of this she fought off her change even more, leaving her lying on the floor, one hand clawing at her stomach at the stabs of pain but her eyes locked on the sight before her.

She watched as blond fur began to sprout along her skin; as muscle began to push itself out from her, pants tearing with the stretch and clothes becoming shreds; as those familiar blond locks shrank in and a snout forced its way through her face; as right in the heartbeat before she completely gave in, she tilted her head and locked eyes with her. The longer Lexa watched the more felt colder and numb she felt.

Clarke remained still when it was over. Her ribs was rising fast with the pace of her breaths, and Lexa herself couldn’t breathe, utterly unbelieving to what she was seeing in front of her.

“No,” she whispered, not entirely conscious of the word slipping out. “ _No_. That’s not—that’s not possible.”

“What’s not?” Raven asked, and Lexa jolted because she had truly forgotten she was there. She craned her neck up and found Raven staring at her, though both their gazes snapped back to Clarke at the sound of an animalistic snarl, the metal _clang_ as Clarke threw herself against the bars.

Lexa couldn’t breathe. She had thought that Clarke’s problem with control was simply because she had never met another werewolf, had never had to exhibit it. But she had been wrong. She had been so goddamn wrong.

Raven suddenly crouched in front of her, her features in a scowl. “Hey! What are you talking about? What do you know?”

“Don’t you?” Lexa countered, but she knew there was no way Raven could. She found she was right in her assumption when Raven stayed silent.

“What’s not possible?” Raven questioned instead.

Lexa grunted at the piercing agony in her ribs, feeling as if they were ripping her apart from the inside. “Clarke, she’s Wanheda,” Lexa gasped out. Raven’s eyes widened, and they both flinched when Clarke roared, a harsh, terrifying sound that was far too big for such a small space. Lexa stared at her, at those burning yellow eyes, those heavily muscles arms, the absolute nightmarish sight of her.

“Wanheda,” Lexa repeated. She looked to Raven, realising only then that she wouldn’t know what she meant. “The First Werewolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should i have split this in two chaps? definitely. but am i an utter fucking idiot? yes.  
> you know what’s really embarrassing? i’d originally planned each chapter to be about 16k max. that’s turned out fucking marvellously, clearly. god dammit. anyway, hope you enjoyed that. i apologise if the quality is shitty, i’m struggling a lot in my life right now so writings a bitch. thanks for reading, especially if you made it this far. You get a choc bickie on the house.  
> Wishing you all a good one.
> 
> (quick side note: someone mentioned how lexa’s wolf size was a little odd last chap and I’ve been thinking a lot on it and I’ve come to agree. so I edited and fixed it up so the scale makes a bit more sense. for clarity, lexa’s shoulders would come up just about to clarke’s chest-ish. so, you know, still a big ol motherfucker that could bite you clean in two. but she’s cute, so it works out.)
> 
> translations:  
> Beja Heda, ai gaf sisen in. Mya snap. - Please Heda, I need your help. Come quickly.  
> Sha. Ai na ste der snap. - Okay. I will be there soon.  
> Ste yuj. - Be strong.  
> Ste gonen. - Hold on.  
> Beja. Kamp raun hir. - Please. Stay here.  
> Sha. Ai get em in. - Yes. I know.  
> Shof op. - Shut up.  
> Jusgafen - Bloodlust


	6. In Wars Of Hearts My Head Wins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *aggressively slaps you with a fuck tonne of exposition*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i know im a total cunt for leaving on such a cliff hunger and then fucking off for near three months. please refrain from murdering me. i havent caught up on sense 8 yet. but, this absolute monster is like 45k so hopefully that makes up for it (just.. dont even ask. i dont know how this keeps happening. im gonna go sob in the corner). im not really happy with how this turned out but i really hope you enjoy it. also would like to throw in a quick thank you for the crazy amount of support last chapter, im really really fucking grateful to each one of you kind souls. really, thank you. it made my everything.  
> also! just a heads up that this gets pretty heavy and dark at points, so a warning that this isnt going to be the most light hearted of times. but dont worry too much! ive included a dog :)  
> (for that Full Immersion listen to: Winter by Big Scary) (also please dont feel obligated to read this mess in one sitting. im just an idiot who doesnt know how to shut up, so please dont stress yourself on my behalf)

_It was raining._

_And not just raining, it was_ raining _raining, it was bucketing down raining, it was there’s-probably-going-to-be-a-flood raining: it was absolutely pouring down so thick you could barely see a metre in front of you raining. A fact that was proving most worrying and irritating, as in this piss poor weather it was damn near impossible to see, but she had to drive through it anyway, even if at this point Clarke would be content to just call it a night, and sleep in the truck so she wouldn’t have to risk the weather._

_But of course, she couldn’t do that. They had stayed way too late at the party, some idiot had been dumb enough to challenge Raven—and consequently her—to a dare where the only prize was pride, but since she had a stubborn streak that was probably going to get her killed one day and Raven didn’t fair much better they had risen to it with puffed chests and gone all in. Sure, they’d won, completely annihilated the twat at table tennis—Raven was totally shit-faced, so Clarke carried for them—but now it was four in the morning and it was bucketing and Clarke really just wanted to be in the comfort of her own bed._

_“Where did this even come from?” Clarke muttered into the quiet of the truck. Raven had fallen asleep a while back and she had turned the music off for her sake, meaning the only sound for the past half hour had been the steady rumble of the engine, the crackle of the tires on the tarmac, the patter of the rain. It was near pitch black outside but Clarke could just make out through the torrential rain the blurred black outlines of trees lining the narrow road._

_She was surprised to get an answer, though it came out slurred and groggy. “God’s taking a piss. Must have been holding it in for a couple centuries.”_

_Clarke sighed. She would have glared at her, but she didn’t want to take her eyes off the road. “Wonderful. The devil incarnate is awake.” She murmured but Raven heard and shot her a look, not that Clarke could see._

_“Try not to drown me in your enthusiasm.”_

_Clarke chuckled. “We’re drowning alright, but in this weather. I can barely see in front of me.” She tried to keep her voice light, but apprehension crawled up her spine and made her hands tighten on the wheel. She grit her teeth. “We should have left earlier. Would have missed the rain.”_

_“And miss those body shots?” Raven smirked, to which Clarke narrowed her eyes._

_“For you maybe._ One _of us had to stay sober.”_

_Raven sighed with mock dejection. She clicked her tongue. “Alas, Party Animal Griffin will have to arise at another time. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. You’ve gotten so boring with med school.”_

_Clarke smiled slightly. “Probably for the best Rae. I certainly don’t miss the hanger overs, which you’ll be having a hell of a one tomorrow.”_

_The rain starting falling harder. It rattled the metal truck roof like a parade of bullets._

_Raven rolled her eyes. “_ You _have a doting boyfriend who’d wait on you hand and foot if you ever even got the slightest headache. You’re just being too adult with all this study and shit. You need to party, let loose!” she threw up her arms, but her lack of coordination meant she slapped her hand against the car side and she winced. She rubbed her wrists before turning to face Clarke. “When’s the last time you even got proper pissed?”_

 _Clarke risked taking one hand off the wheel so she could give her the finger. “You forget that I’ve stayed sober so_ you _could get completely off your face tonight. You forget whose driving the car Rae?”_

_There was a beat of silence before Clarke heard a huff. Raven fell back into her seat. “I’m getting you drunk soon. You’re no fun sober.”_

_“And I so look forward to it.”_

_Raven scowled at her but didn’t say anything._

_They drove in silence for a while. Clarke found the quiet oddly peaceful. Aside from the heavy assault of the rain, it was nice to be surrounded in such soft natural silence, no scream of music, no pounding headache, nothing to take away from the present. She couldn’t stress about med school and her residency in this moment. She was the only one who could drive and get Raven home, and it was nice to have something simple to do. Something not weighed down by life decisions and anxieties._

_But Raven had never been one for quiet. So Clarke wasn’t too surprised when she saw Raven leaning forward and switching the radio on. There was a burst of static and the grainy speaker flickered in and out with dipping voices—the rain was probably messing with the reception—until eventually Raven settled on a station._

_Clarke snorted at the pop song that started playing. Normally she wouldn’t care, but she was feeling oddly introspective and wasn’t really in the mood. She reached out a hand without taking her eyes off the road and turned the radio off._

_“Really Griffin?”_

_Clarke shook her head. “I like the quiet, Rae. Pass out again if it bugs you so much.”_

_But Raven, of course, would never take the easy route. It wasn’t a second later until Clarke heard the radio being switched back on. She could practically_ hear _Raven’s smug grin. With a sigh she reached and turned it off. Raven turned it on. She turned it off. Raven turned it on. She turned it—_

_“Damn it Rae will you quit it?” Clarke snapped, glancing to her and sending her a warning glare._

_Raven laughed in her face. “I want music! You are withholding my music rights like a cruel fun-sucking dictator.” She tried to turn the radio on again but Clarke slapped her hand away._

_“Raven I swear to god I’m going to break your hand.”_

_Raven raised a brow._

_She turned the radio on._

_Clarke looked to her and clenched her jaw. She pushed a sharp breath through her nose. “That’s it. I’m going to_ throw _you out into the rain or so help me—“_

_Her words were cut off when Raven’s eyes suddenly blew wider than she’d ever seen. “WATCH OUT!” she yelled but it was too late and by the time Clarke’s eyes snapped to the front they were already colliding with something. A massive dark mass slammed into the hood of the car, giving them a violent jolt and making the seatbelt dig into her shoulder so hard it probably bruised her skin._

_She heard a yelp and a pained whimper, Clarke roughly jerking the wheel and just keeping the truck from driving off the road and smashing into a tree. She only just managed to save them but the road was slippery with water and they skidded and spun in loops until finally Clarke wrenched it to a jerky stop._

_All she could hear was her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Clarke blinked, breathing heavily and desperately trying to shove aside the panic that was clawing its way up her chest. She glanced over at her side._

_“Raven—Raven are you alright? Are you okay?”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She was gripping the handle above the car window with white knuckles. She looked to her, her eyes wide and face pale. “What the hell was that?”_

_“We hit something.” Saying it out loud seemed to be the thing that actually brought her to the reality what had just happened. “Oh fuck we_ hit _something. Shit. Fuck.”_

_Clarke hastily looked over her shoulder, squinting her eyes but able to see nothing through the back window with the heavy rain. She bit her lip but the decision was immediate._

_“Stay here.” She said, unbuckling her seatbelt._

_Raven blinked at her. “Are you insane? What if we hit a person, we need to be driving_ away _not walking towards!”_

_“If we hit a person then that’s even more reason to check it out! Fuck Raven this isn’t the time for this shit.” Her hands were shaking when she finally managed to throw the seatbelt off and shove open the car door. She jumped out and stumbled, only righting herself last minute and slipping slightly on the wet ground. She heard a sharp curse and a bang as the other car door was opened and shut._

_Raven appeared at the other side. Even just being outside for a few seconds was rendering them completely drenched. It was freezing without the safety and warmth of the heating within the car. Clarke shucked off her leather jacket and raised it over her head as a makeshift umbrella of sorts, and in the corner of her eye she saw Raven repeating the action. With careful steps, mindful of the water still pouring down and the puddles and shallow streams by her feet, she squinted and started walking back to where the mass had jumped out. She didn’t really know what to look for, but she knew there had to be_ something _._

_Clarke paused when she saw it. It was a sign, or had been, it was incredibly difficult to see but she could just make out the ring of white and red. It was a speed sign, but it was bent over at a ninety-degree angle, as if it was leaning over to pick something off the floor. She approached it cautiously, yet the closer she got the more she could make out the sounds._

_Whimpers. They were loud, and definitely animal. She cringed internally. It didn’t sound good. The rain still took up most of what she could hear but the animal must have been in serious pain because it was huffing and whining the loudest it could be. She walked up to the deformed sign. She was still standing on the road and there was a dip down on either side of it, leading into the grass area of the forest surrounding them. The sign stood there, but what also stood out was the humongous animal that was collapsed just near the entry of the trees._

_“Fuck,” Clarke swore. She realised why it was whimpering now._

_It must have hit the truck dead on, and their speed seemed to have to have sent the animal off to the side, smashing into the pole and rolling into the ditch that led to the access into the forest—but it had landed right on top of an already fallen tree._

_It had speared itself on a thick branch._

_Clarke cursed again. Raven appeared at her side, and she listed an impressive string of profanities at seeing what Clarke had seen. How even if the animal was still alive, it was also very clear that it would not be that way for long. The branch jutted right through its stomach like a pen stabbed through a piece of paper. Ignoring the bite of the wet cold, she gingerly stepped down onto the grass, careful to avoid slipping. It didn’t really matter, as with how intense the rain was she had no hope anyway and practically slid down._

_It was more dumb luck than anything that she kept herself upright. She did stumble though, feeling mud splash up her boots. The rain still thudded rhythmically against her leather jacket. She approached the animal as she hadn’t been able to really see it, what with the dark and the rain and its distance, but the closer she got the more she realised just what she had hit._

_It was a wolf. Or at least she thought so; it was strange. It_ looked _like a wolf, but it was fucking massive, and though half its body was cloaked within the bushy leaves of the fallen tree, she could still make out its huge head, the black fur. Its eyes had been closed but when she came within arms reach they snapped open and it let out a savage snarl._

_Clarke lurched backwards. She tripped over her feet and slipped, crashing into the wet ground and cursing. She heard Raven yell from behind her, and not long after another string of swears as Raven slid down and came at her side, grabbing her elbow and helping her up._

_“Thanks,” she muttered, but Raven just glanced to the animal. She narrowed her eyes._

_“Is that a wolf?”_

_“I think so.” Clarke answered. She almost sputtered as she spoke now she had nothing to fend off the rain. She glanced around, wincing at seeing how muddy her jacket was now—definitely ruined—but it was all she had, so she leant downward and picked it up. She threw it over her head again. “It’s trapped. I think it speared itself by accident, it can’t move. Won’t live either.”_

_The wolf was still whimpering, but there was now a mixture of snarls and growls added to it. They were deep and rough, frankly quite terrifying, but Clarke still found the courage to slowly approach the animal again. She was careful to stay further out of its reach this time though. Its yellow eyes didn’t shift off her. They almost seemed to glow in the dark._

_Clarke crouched down. She watched the animal closely, her sight drifting to the branch poking through its stomach. Even if they somehow managed to free it from it, it wouldn’t live. The wound was far too severe. She clenched her jaw. It didn’t look like there’d be a point in trying to save it, as it would only prolong its pain, and_ she _was the one who’d hit it. It was her responsibility._

_“Jesus, how big is that fucking thing?” Raven muttered from behind her. Unlike Clarke, she kept a fair amount of distance between her and the thing that looked like it could bite her clean in two._

_The rain muddled the pool of blood forming by its stomach. “I don’t know,” Clarke said, frowning as she looked it over. It was clear it was an animal, most likely a wolf, but there was something strange about it—something she couldn’t quite place. She sighed. “It’s in pain Raven, and it won’t last. It’d probably be best if we put it out of its misery.”_

_Raven winced. “Can’t we just leave it? Call animal services or something?”_

_“How long will it take for them to come out?” Clarke sighed, but she softened her voice. “I’m just saying. Do you want it to die slowly and painfully, or quickly and as painless as possible?_ We _were the ones that hit it. This isn’t something that we can just shove off as someone else’s problem.”_

_Raven swore again. She looked away, but guilt had her bringing her sight back. “Clarke…”_

_But Clarke just shook her head slowly. “It’s suffering Raven. It’s our only choice.”_

_Raven’s gaze switched to the animal. She stared at it for a while, and when Clarke looked too she saw the rain had utterly drenched the animal’s fur, it was matted and slick, making the dark fur look like an unsettlingly smooth pitch-black skin. Clarke knew Raven had given in when she heard her sigh. She spoke up before Raven could._

_“I've got a hunting knife in the glovebox. Can you grab it for me?”_

_Raven’s jaw dropped slightly. “You’ve been keeping a_ hunting knife _in the car?” she sputtered, staring at her as if she’d gone crazy. “What the fuck Clarke? What the hell kind of shit do you think—“_

_“It was my dad’s Rae.” Clarke sharply cut off. Raven fell silent. “It’s one of the few things I have left of him.” She added quietly, and Raven’s eyes shifted from disbelieving to understanding._

_She nodded mutely. They remained a moment, both seeming to stare at the animal with equal feelings of regret and dread in their guts, until Raven shook her head and walked back up to the road. Clarke watched her retreating figure for a few seconds before focusing back on the animal._

_“I’m sorry.” She started. She knew it couldn’t understand her, but she figured it deserved some comfort at least. “It will be quick. You won’t be in pain for much longer.”_

_The growls started to die off. It was still breathing heavily, panting and huffing, but its snarls died away. It continued to watch her._

_Clarke decided she’d risk it and inched a little closer. The animal didn’t growl at her, so she took that as progress. “Never thought I’d actually have to use Dad’s knife.” She chuckled then, but it was far from a warm sound. “You’ll be alright. You don’t have to fear.” She swallowed thickly. “Death gets us all, eventually.”_

_Her father’s death still felt like an open wound, and she couldn’t help but feel the familiar grief and pain whenever she thought of death. It had taken some time, but she had begun to come to terms with it. Whether death comes prematurely or not, it is inevitable, there is no escaping it, and you can either accept that or deny it until you do. It wasn’t fair. But few things in life were._

_The animal went silent. It was still looking at her, but there was something strange in its gaze. Her brow creased as she stared at it in its yellow eyes, and the longer she looked the more entrancing she found them to be. She was still entrenched within the mud and water, but the sound and feeling of the rain hitting her jacket above her started to buzz out. The animal lifted its head, those yellow eyes still staring directly at her. Clarke couldn’t stop looking at it._

_There was a growing dizziness building in her head. She could feel a pulsing behind her eyes, the type of headaches she’d get when she would stay up too late studying. The animal let out a rumble, but it didn’t sound like a growl, wasn’t threatening or a warning. She didn’t really think it was happening at first, but suddenly those yellow eyes actually started to_ glow _. She felt an odd sensation in her own eyes, and without her seeing, her eyes started to glow that canine yellow too._

You _._

_She didn’t know where the voice came from. But she heard it. It didn’t sound human, but at same time it did._

Closer _, the voice spoke again, and Clarke found herself leaning forward without noticing. She raised a hand and she had almost reached out to touch its fur when she felt someone touch her shoulder and she violently jumped back._

_“Woah, relax! It’s just me,” Raven laughed at her nerves, but Clarke remained still for a beat, blinking rapidly and trying to pull herself from whatever daze she’d fallen into. She’d dropped her jacket when she had lurched back, and she could feel her fingers in the wet grass, her arms supporting her. The yellow faded from her eyes like it had never been._

_She frowned. “Sorry,” she eventually said. She blinked again before soon noticing that Raven had the knife outstretched for her. It only took her a moment to pull herself together. She knew that Raven couldn’t be the one to do it. “Thank you,” she offered softly, taking the knife. Raven pulled at the jacket that covered her head tighter._

_Clarke didn’t bother with pulling her jacket back over. She just grit her teeth and took the rain. The knife felt irrationally heavy in her hands. She pulled in a steadying breath, nodding to herself. Alright. She would make it quick. She shuffled closer and was surprised when the animal didn’t growl her like before, in fact, it didn’t offer any semblance of resistance. Instead it actually relaxed. Its head fell to the dirt._

_“Rest in peace buddy,” she murmured, and she reached out and tried to grab its head so she could steady it to push the blade in._

_It seemed she had spoken too soon though. The previously calm presence of the animal changed in a heartbeat, and all of a sudden it snarled and its head jerked up. Its teeth latched onto her forearm before she could pull away._

_“Fuck!” She tried to pull her arm back but it only bit down harder. She could practically feel those terrifying teeth digging into her bone. Raven shouted her panic from her behind her, and Clarke’s eyes snapped up, looking to the animal’s._

_They were wild and frenzied, but they held an intelligence, a strange knowing—a look that she found she couldn’t quite identify. Another shock of sharp pain jolted up her arm when it snarled again and attempted to jerk her forward. Clarke’s other hand shot out and she grabbed the side of the animal’s head._

_“I’m sorry,” she panted, and ignoring its growl and the pain in her arm she let go, grabbed the knife with her free hand, and slammed it up into its brain from under its chin._

_Those strange eyes flickered, but within the space of a breath acceptance entered and passed. The life faded and they became dull as its head lolled back to the ground. Her arm was still trapped within its teeth though and she had to drop the knife, using her other hand to grab its muzzle and pry it open. She had the illogical notion that it was suddenly going to bite down again somehow, but when she lifted it high enough that she could rip her arm out—it didn’t move._

_Clarke clutched her bitten arm, cursing and hissing under her breath at the pain that suddenly flared up. The rain was still drenching her, and it stung every time the droplets hit the bloody wound._

_“Shit! Are you okay?” Raven dropped by her side, grasping her shoulder with a hand and staring wide-eyed at the bite._

_“Yeah, yeah it’s fine,” she assured, but she was lying and an abrupt spike of pain had her groaning and holding her arm tighter. It hurt like_ hell _. It was the weirdest sensation like it was on fire, eating at her flesh and making her almost want to cry out._

_“You’re a shitty liar Griffin.” Raven shook her head at her before she grabbed her arm—the uninjured one—and helped up to her feet. Clarke was completely soaked now. Raven was only fairing the slightest bit better._

_Clarke let her pull her up, but only because it was becoming hard to think. She was sure this wasn’t normal. The pain was so blaring and agonisingly intense she was half tempted to just cut her arm off, sure that it would hurt less._

_“We’ve got the first-aid kit in the back.” Clarke pushed out, her voice strained and shaking. Raven nodded at her side, and they only paused one last moment, glancing to the now dead animal at their feet. Clarke’s blood was still on its teeth, and those eyes remained open, red still pooling at its stomach as the rain poured down and muddied the puddle._

_Raven was the one to break the moment, gently tugging her arm. “Come on, if we stay any longer in this rain we’re gonna get sick.”_

_Clarke had to screw her eyes shut when there was a burst of searing pain from the bite. She just nodded stiffly at her, unwilling to try and get a word out. Raven looked concerned as she swallowed and led them both up, slipping a few times on the wet muddy grass but thankfully managing to stay up right as they trudged back up onto road._

_Raven was quick to split off once they were up to get to the truck, throwing an assurance over her shoulder that Clarke couldn’t make out. When Clarke finally made it to the truck she let her back slump against it, still clutching so tightly around her arm it was practically numb now. She glanced down, cringing at seeing the torn flesh in the better light, the blood leaking out._

_She kept staring the bite, and she couldn’t rid the sudden sensation that something was very wrong._

_-_

“And that’s exactly what happened, you’re sure?” Lexa checked, and Clarke blinked from where she was sitting on the couch, her mind seemingly too deeply entrenched in the recount of memories.

Clarke tore her gaze off the empty fireplace, meeting her eyes and nodding. “Yeah.” She answered, her voice soft from talking for so long. “That’s how I was turned.”

Lexa kept her expression blank, even if she could feel her stomach dropping further and further below. Swallowing felt like she was choking and even she couldn’t stop herself from releasing the shaky breath, as the realisation truly sunk in, and when she glanced around the deadly silent room—Clarke and Raven on the couch, Anya and Indra standing with herself—she saw her pack mates let escape the same breath.

Perhaps it was a tad naïve to have been hoping she was wrong. It was an oddly common thing with her, the hope that she was wrong. She had always had a more rational and realistic mind than most, meaning she was never one to dismiss the grimmest and darkest of outcomes; which tended to be the most realistic in her life.

Anya met Lexa’s eyes. “The only way to become Wanheda is to kill Wanheda.” She murmured, as in no surprise, it seemed she was the one who was going to address what everyone didn’t want to address.

Indra let out a sharp scoff, and Lexa saw Clarke’s frown in the corner of her eye. “That’s a story.” Indra snapped, and while her voice was hard and sharp, Lexa could sense the underlying fear behind it. “There is no evidence that Wanheda is even real.”

“Well, _clearly_ she is, as she’s sitting right there.” Anya snidely shot back.

But Indra just seemed to grow angrier. She threw out an arm at Clarke. “ _Her_? Her story doesn’t prove anything. She found a werewolf, and she was bitten.”

“She _killed_ it. She said she felt its presence. It had yellow eyes—“

Indra scoffed again. “It could have been in Bloodlust.”

“—and it _can’t_ have been in Bloodlust, otherwise it would have killed them both. You think an injury like that could have truly stopped it? It could have ripped itself off and shifted itself to heal.”

“And she could be _lying_!” Indra hissed. “She is a mutt, she has no loyalties, and we have _no_ reason to take her word so surely. And, we _especially_ shouldn’t be making such callous jumps to bedtime stories!”

“That’s enough.” Lexa muttered, and it was the low tone that had them both instantly quieting. She watched as the pair blinked, seeming to realise how close they had been inching to each other in the heat of their argument. “I understand that this is… a difficult issue, but if you wish to waste your time arguing over useless points then I suggest you do it in your own hours. I have better things to be doing.”

Indra stepped towards her, voice becoming pleading. “Heda, you must know that we cannot just take her word as absolute and freely fling around such titles and stories as Wanheda—“

“I’m not.” Lexa cut off. Indra’s brow furrowed. “It is my word as well,” Lexa said, and this time she stepped forward, drawing herself up. “ _I_ saw her shift last night. I saw Wanheda. For you to doubt Clarke’s word, I am not surprised. But do you _really_ wish to doubt mine?”

Indra clenched her jaw, and they held heavy stares long enough that Lexa raised a brow, but eventually Indra sighed sharply through her nose and stepped back, stiffly bowing her head. “No. I do not doubt you.”

Lexa let the silence press on for another suffocating moment before murmuring, “good.” She glanced towards Anya, and her sister gave her a minute nod as well. The tense quiet was broken by Raven, someone who Lexa had only reluctantly let come in to her home—she was a human, after all, and this was Heda’s home—but it was starting to come apparent that with Clarke came Raven.

“Could someone tell me what the fuck that was about?” Raven asked, and her tone instantly had Indra stiffening.

Clarke sighed from beside her. “What she _means_ to say,” she placated, throwing a glare at Raven, “is what do you mean by ‘story’? How do you know its name?”

Lexa tilted her head slightly. “You speak like you already know Wanheda’s name.”

Clarke frowned, her eyes flicking between the others in the room. “Do you not know yours?” she asked slowly.

“The wolves themselves don’t have names.” Anya said, much to Lexa’s surprise. She must have been giving her a weird look because Anya shot a quick glare at her. “Unless you want to name it yourself, which is a _bit_ weird, but hey, everyone’s into something.”

Raven grew a smirk. “And just what _are_ you into, might I ask?”

Anya scowled at her. “You’re deluded to think I would answer that.”

“Really? I didn’t seem so ‘ _deluded_ ’ two weeks ago. In fact, I think I remember you quite clearly saying—“

“Do you know each other?” Lexa interrupted, unsure if she was hallucinating or not as she listened to their interaction, her eyes constantly switching between them.

“No.” Anya said, while Raven answered, “yes,” at the exact same time.

They both glared at each other.

“Right,” Clarke drawled, and if it was any consolation it seemed she was as surprised and confused as she was about Anya and Raven’s apparent knowledge of each other. Though perhaps a bit more worried. “Can we get back to the whole reason-why-we’re-here thing?”

“Yes,” Lexa added, still frowning slightly. “That would be best.” There was a beat of awkward silence that mostly consisted of Anya avoiding Raven’s gaze and Lexa biting back a smile at just how uncharacteristic Anya was being, before she suddenly cleared her throat, feeling those traces of levity draining away as they became serious once more. “As Anya was saying, our wolves do not have names. They are us, we are them. They are not separate.”

Clarke swallowed. “But mine is.” She said quietly, and it seemed more a test than anything, a question than a statement.

“But yours is.” Lexa agreed. She paused then, and wondered how she should go about something so inherently shrouded and vague, until she eventually settled on just starting from the beginning. “There is a legend we have. About how werewolves were born, how we came to be. It… originally, was thought to be just a tale, but it seems that it is far realer than any of us thought.”

Lexa’s gaze sought out Indra’s briefly, checking to see if she was going to contradict her, but while Indra looked like she wanted to murder someone she remained quiet. Lexa offered a small grateful nod. She didn’t need lines being drawn during something with this magnitude.

“What’s the legend?” Clarke asked, and she was leaning forward now, and despite how Lexa could see the tiredness in her bones and bags under her eyes there was energy in her eagerness.

Lexa’s voice softened without her really noticing as she addressed Clarke fully, taking her focus off the room. There was only one person who truly needed to hear this; and it was the one that would be affected the most.

“No one truly knows, and the story can change depending on who you hear it from,” Lexa started. “But generally, it is the legend that the First Werewolf, Wanheda, was a spirit that came to earth and found a host. Some say the spirit came from the ground, others say it came from the sky. All that is truly believed is that it is this spirit from where our kind was born.”

“It found a host. Thousands and thousands of years ago, it found a human that was willing to embrace it. The spirit’s power followed the lunar cycle, and so it was only forced to break out and assume its form on the full moon, when it became too overwhelming to hide. It lasts for three days, and falls relatively dormant until the next moon.” Lexa look a breath, and she was finding she felt more and more the surreal the longer she went on. It was strange that something that had always been confined to story, something she’d listen to as a kid when she was bored or couldn’t sleep; that it had been reality all along and it sat right in front of her.

“A spirit,” Clarke muttered, her brow twitching. “That’s what it is?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on, if Clarke’s wolf is the one that made all of you, why doesn’t hers look like yours?” Raven asked, and it seemed she had fallen solemn now too.

Lexa sighed. “There is debate, as I’ve said, this legend is very, very old, and it is rarely spoken of. I only know it so intimately because it is important in Trikru culture, but in other packs it is far less known. Some packs even have different stories of how wolves were born.”

“Simply put; the spirit couldn’t transfer completely. When the first host turned on the moon and Wanheda failed to fully kill one of its human victims, a part of it infected the human. Enough so they became a wolf and inherited its abilities—faster, stronger, longer lifespans—but they were more a balance. Wanheda works as a host, werewolves work in balance.”

“There is only one way for Wanheda to move to a different host.” Anya spoke up, gathering Clarke’s attention. “As I said before. To kill Wanheda, you become Wanheda.”

“And you killed Wanheda.” Lexa added. She could hear Clarke’s heart rate pick up, the slow draining of her face. “ _You_ killed it firsthand. And if your description of the wolf you found was true, if you indeed felt its presence…”

“Then it passed on.” Clarke finished quietly. Her eyes drew shut and she hung her head, her hands knitting themselves just behind. “Shit.”

Raven shook her head. “I knew we should have kept on driving.” She muttered, but Clarke heard and sighed. She didn’t look up, just kept her head in her hands.

“Don’t, Raven.” She murmured, her voice so soft Lexa felt her heart ache. “Just don’t.”

Lexa shifted on her feet, unsure if she should approach her or not. The need to comfort her was painfully overwhelming, but they didn’t know each other, not really, and instead Lexa was left there with her hands twitching at her sides. She didn’t think she could get away with going over and consoling her, so she settled for simply continuing. She didn’t know how to do anything else.

“There is something you need to see.” She said, and Clarke’s head came up again. They met gazes, and Lexa didn’t understand how through just a look alone she felt more at peace than she had in a very long time. “Come, follow me.”

She decided to be brave and held out her a hand, and Clarke only eyed it a moment before she cautiously took it and let her pull her up. Lexa refused to acknowledge how their hands moulded into each other like they were fated to be. If her soul fell calm at the contact she didn’t say anything.

Raven’s eyes slid over to Anya, a sly smile spreading on her lips. “Do _I_ get my hand held?” she grinned, and Lexa was stunned when Anya didn’t outright slit her throat on the spot.

“Is it really necessary for her to be with us for this?” Anya asked Lexa, seeming to just ignore Raven entirely.

Lexa’s gaze briefly flicked over to Clarke. “It seems so.” She answered, and Anya looked truly devastated by that.

She frowned. “Can we at least tape her mouth shut so she can’t talk?”

Raven winked at her. “Kinky shit. I won’t lie, I’m up for it.”

Lexa stepped forward and grabbed Anya’s arm before she actually _did_ go and murder Raven. “Let’s get moving. I can only keep the pack away for so long.”

“Heda is right.” Indra agreed, if very gruffly. “They will be returning from their run soon. We all already shifted last night; they will not be gone for long. Even on Heda’s orders.”

Anya snatched her arm away, glaring at Raven again—to which Raven just smiled at her—before growling and storming out the front door. Lexa knew that Anya wasn’t stupid, and she would know what she wanted to show Clarke. It was the only thing she _could_ show her really.

Lexa felt a sudden loss of warmth in her hand, and she glanced down only to realise she had forgotten to let go of Clarke’s when she had helped her up. Her gaze snapped up to meet hers, and she found her already staring at her with something like curiosity in her eyes, something so indescribably soft and tender that Lexa had a hard time breathing.

Clarke slowly retreated her hands into her pockets.

“After you.” She murmured.

-

Raven let out an impressed whistle as Lexa pulled the book down, activating the lever and making the bookcase grumble, the sounds of rolling gears and clinking metal echoing through the basement while it slowly slid to the side. Behind it revealed a door, and her eyes briefly searched out Clarke’s, finding the small disbelieving smile that she had grown last time. At seeing it Lexa felt her own lips tilt up, and she admired it a moment before finally she opened the door and stepped through.

She flicked on the light switch at the wall as she walked in, the sharp flash of light momentarily making her blink. Lexa moved to the side as the others came through, Raven being the first who practically stumbled in as she had been closely eyeing the bookcase, probably to try figure out how it worked, but Anya was impatient and had shoved her forward. Indra was next, followed by Clarke, and Lexa noticed that she looked to be growing uneasier by the second.

After throwing another glare at Anya Raven turned to Lexa. “What's all this secrecy for?” she asked, though her attention was quick to be diverted to the heavy metal door at the opposite end, and she swiftly approached it before Lexa could even answer her question.

Lexa watched her closely as she ran her hands over the grooves of the metal. “We hold important records in here, especially to the pack. It is too risky to leave it without security measures.”

“So you hide it in the basement in a secret room?” Raven let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking her head as she turned back around to face her. “You're a crazy fucking lot, I'll give you that.”

Lexa chose not to respond to that. Instead she moved over to the other side of the room, to where the centuries old book stood laid out atop a stone stand. She glanced up once she was behind it, and she found that Clarke was already staring at it, her fingers twitching at her sides.

“I told you before that this was a book from centuries ago, from when werewolves first came to be.” Lexa was careful as she opened the book, the spine so weathered and worn that it was practically falling apart at the seams. She went right to the first page, the smell of dust and dried ink drifting up to her. “Generally, it makes up most of Trikru history. Previous alphas, territories, battles... it is a document of our history. But the further back you push, the more it turns into recounts of stories, legends, things we can't prove as fact so surely.”

Clarke slowly approached her as Lexa spoke, her eyes never once shifting off the book. She came up till she was standing next to her. “It has Wanheda's legend?” she questioned, her voice soft sounding and far away. In lieu of a verbal reply Lexa turned the first page, the thick yellow-near-brown paper crinkling as she did so. Clarke sucked in a sharp breath.

On the page it revealed a picture. It looked like it had been hand painted, some parts of it cracked and flaking, and the colours nearly long faded. But you could still see what it was intended to be. A hulking creature, standing side on and up on its hinds, pitch-black fur and yellow eyes, its teeth dripping red and a body below it—a man, clutching at his arm, collapsed to the ground as he looked like he was trying to drag himself away. Underneath the image was small scrawled writing, the letters bunched together and connected in styles that were long since archaic.

 _Wanheda, the First Werewolf_.

Raven suddenly popped up beside her, eyeing the picture and tilting her head. “Damn. Sorry Clarke, looks like they caught your bad angle.”

Anya snorted and Lexa looked up at her, arching a brow. Raven's response though was a wide a grin, which instantly had Anya rolling her eyes and playing it off with a scowl, even if Lexa could see the faint red tinge at her cheeks.

“This is the story you said,” Clarke muttered, bringing Lexa's attention back. “That it bit someone and passed it on.”

Lexa hadn't her voice so desolate before, so resigned and defeated. She frowned slightly. “Yes.”

Clarke for the first time tore her gaze off the book and glanced up at her. “Where does it say that you have to kill it to become it?”

Lexa only watched Clarke closely for another beat before she reached down and flipped the pages, again keeping the careful pace, flicking through until she found what she wanted. This one was spread over two pages, the page on the left holding another painted image taking up half the paper—this one of a someone stabbing the massive creature, the sword buried in its gut and blood spreading all over their hand, and the killer's eyes glowed yellow—with a block of cramped text underneath, while the right side held a faded hand print, but it was red.

“Is that _blood_?” Raven exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the handprint.

Clarke lifted her hand and let her fingers lightly graze the print, something like reverence and awe in the slow touch. Lexa watched her intently. “It’s believed to be from the person who first made the book, and who apparently held Wanheda. They were dying, and they did not wish to be forgotten, for Wanheda to be forgotten.”

Raven frowned. “But they were, in a way, weren't they? You say some packs don't even believe in Wanheda as a tale; let alone fact. Wanheda _was_ forgotten.”

“This is the last entry on Wanheda.” Lexa revealed. “The last page. It is the only surviving documentation of the legend.”

“Why?” Raven pushed.

Lexa let out a sigh. “I do not know. This is all the knowledge we have. Wanheda hasn't even been thought to _exist_ for generations. There has been no word of anyone who could have been host.” She shrugged. “No one’s been thought to be Wanheda for over a century, doubt inevitably set in. A name has never been found of those who apparently held Wanheda, so there's no trail to follow.”

“Because they'd become targets.” Clarke said, slowly spreading her hand until it echoed the handprints shape. “They would, wouldn't they? Because it can only be passed on if they are killed.”

Lexa tried to catch Clarke's eye, but she was still staring at the book, at the handprint that now lay beneath her own. She didn't answer, but that was an answer in itself. Clarke's eyes drew shut and she released a shaky exhale.

“All of this over a goddamn accident.” She whispered. Soon she was shaking her head and pulling her hand back, stepping away. “I should get home.” She sighed.

“You're going to leave _now_?” Indra scoffed at her. “Considering what's been discovered, the threat that you are—”

“Leave it, Indra.” Lexa warned, and though Indra looked at her like she had suddenly lost her mind, she merely grit her teeth and fell quiet. Lexa turned and met Clarke's eyes. She didn't want to let Clarke go at all—Indra was right, after all, there was _much_ that needed to be discussed—but Lexa could see the exhaustion that was weighing Clarke down. She had seen her shift last night, and going by the bone-chilling screams that she's sure she'll never forget; it was obvious that Clarke needed rest after something so brutal.

Her answer must have showed itself before Lexa could say it, because some of that tension left Clarke's shoulders and she nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” She offered, quiet and personal enough so it was only felt between them.

Lexa didn't trust herself to speak then, so instead she just nodded and Clarke echoed it before shifting passed her. She watched her as she headed for the door, except realising something suddenly Lexa came forward and grabbed her wrist right as she was about to leave. Clarke instantly tensed and her back stiffened, but when she looked behind her and saw it was Lexa grabbing her; Lexa was marvelled to see her relax.

“You cannot tell anyone of what you are.” Lexa said, and though she tried against it her voice came out graver and more fearful than she intended.

Clarke gave her a wry smile. “Don't worry, I won't go shouting it at the rooftops anytime soon.” She replied, but Lexa shook her head and held her wrist tighter, pulling her closer.

“ _No one_ Clarke. I am being serious. No one but the people in this room, do you understand?”

Clarke's smile fell away, her brow creasing. “Yeah, I understand,” she answered, and the joking tone was gone.

Lexa's eyes flicked between Clarke's own, making sure her promise was absolute. She searched them, but when Clarke's gaze remained steady and sincere, Lexa felt the relief collapse chest and she dipped her head, wordlessly accepting Clarke's promise. They lingered for reasons that weren't quite understood, but then Clarke's gaze flicked down to where she was still holding her wrist and Lexa abruptly let go.

Clarke cleared her throat as she stepped back. “I’ll see you after the last of full moon.” She said, but Lexa had been expecting something of that reply so she didn’t bother arguing.

“Until then.” Lexa agreed, nodding at her.

Clarke hesitated though, the softness that Lexa had been beginning to grow used to hardening on her features. “And Lexa, we _will_ be talking after the moon. I haven’t forgotten about Octavia.”

Yet Lexa didn’t fight her. “I know. And there is much to be discussed of what you are. What it will mean.”

Clarke’s throat bobbed. “Yeah.” She released a trembling breath and ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah,” she repeated, softer this time. She stared off to the side for a moment, Lexa thought she was gathering herself, before she seemed to just shake her head and stepped back again. “Goodbye Lexa.”

“Goodbye.”

Clarke nearly walked out the door, except she paused as she pulled it open. “You coming Raven?” she called, raising a brow, and Lexa turned around in time to see Raven roll her eyes from where she stood beside Anya, soon strolling over.

Raven stopped after only a couple paces though, facing back around to Anya with a smirk spreading on her lips. “And do I get a long, drawn-out heartfelt goodbye as well?” she teased. Lexa was beginning to wonder if Raven had a death wish.

“Get. Out.” Anya growled, and Raven just clicked her tongue and raised her hands.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving.” Lexa caught Clarke’s eye in a last silent goodbye before she finally left. Raven trailed after her, offering a jaunty salute to them as she slipped out. Anya released a breath of relief, but it wasn’t a moment later until Raven’s head was popping back in. “Can I at least get your number?” she asked and this time Lexa had to grab Anya as lunged forward.

“Go, Raven.” Lexa grunted and it seemed even she knew when she had poked the bear long enough. With a dejected sigh she complied and slipped away. Lexa held on to Anya’s arm for another moment just in case before she let her go, Anya pulling away from her with a snarl.

“She’s infuriating.” She spat, but Lexa only finally let loose the amused smile that had been trying to break out.

“She seems to have that effect on you.” Anya shot her a glare at that but Lexa merely let it slide. “How do you know her, then? I am… surprised that you do.”

Anya sighed. She was quiet a moment, probably deciding whether she was going to crack or not, but eventually her shoulders fell and she looked to her. “I met her. Once. Two weeks ago.” The words seemed to pain her to come out. “You remember the club we went to?”

A little too vividly, Lexa thought. She nodded.

Anya looked a little forlorn at that. She was probably hoping that Lexa hadn’t remembered. “Well,” Anya started, looking more awkward by the second, “she was the human I was with before you came storming out and dragged me out the club. Which you still haven’t talked to me about, by the way.”

Lexa frowned. “The one you wouldn’t stop ranting about when we got home?”

Anya scowled. “I wasn’t ranting.”

“You went off for twenty minutes on how stubborn she was.”

Anya scoffed. “It wasn’t twenty minutes, fuck off.”

Lexa held their stare, arching a brow until Anya finally caved.

“It was more fifteen.” She grumbled under her breath.

“You should be wary of her, Anya.” Indra warned, garnering both of theirs attention. She looked between them. “Octavia said she found a silver bullet in Raven’s room. A _used_ one.”

Lexa blinked. “ _Raven’s_ room?” she repeated, surprised being an understatement to this knowledge.

“What, you think _she’s_ a hunter?” Anya stared at her with wide-eyes. “Are you insane? Didn’t Lexa say that she was helping Clarke last night?”

“It doesn’t matter if she was ‘ _helping_ ’ her; she still has a silver bullet. And there is only one use for silver bullets.” Indra’s voice lowered, and Lexa was starting to realise that Indra was taking this threat very seriously and if she didn’t step in, then she would _definitely_ go and take matters into her own hands.

Lexa stepped forward so she was in front of Indra. “Raven is Clarke’s closest friend. She wouldn’t kill her.”

But Indra didn’t back down. “Maybe not her,” she said, her lip pulling back. “But the rest of us? She upended her life and moved to a remote town for the mutt. You believe she holds no resentment for that?”

“Raven isn’t a killer.” Anya argued, and at the surprised looks she earned she rolled her eyes. “Look, she is _incredibly_ annoying, and I’d gladly shove her off a cliff, but she doesn’t seem the type to go off hunting werewolves, creatures she _knows_ she couldn’t stand a chance against, because she’s pissed.”

“How well do you know her Anya? She still has a silver bullet. If she’s so harmless then why would she feel the need to own the very thing that is designed to kill our kind?”

“Enough of this.” Lexa snapped. Indra blinked at her, and her mouth opened only for Lexa to raise her hand and it abruptly closed shut. “We will deal with Raven later. We can confront her at another time, currently, we have _far_ bigger problems to focus on.”

It seemed the two of them agreed, because Lexa didn’t hear another word.

A part of Lexa wished they didn’t. Because while she had been explaining to Clarke what Wanheda was and the legends following it, slow dread had been trailing down her spine like the spread of tar, a thick and suffocating ink that consumed her greater with every passing breath. It was a realisation. There had been a question she had been desperate to answer this past month, and in all those moments where she’d begged whatever above to give her _something_ ; she now selfishly wished that they hadn’t given her anything at all.

Lexa slowly strode over to the desk on the opposite side of the room. She let her behind lean against it, spreading out her hands and curling her fingers tightly around the end of the wood. She looked up, to the expectant and now fearful faces of Anya of Indra, watching her with an apprehension thick enough to choke.

“Heda,” Anya said slowly, coming towards her. “What is it?”

Lexa swallowed. “I know why Cage is here.” She said, and it only took another moment for the truth to hit them as well.

Indra’s eyes blew wide. “Wanheda,” she breathed.

Anya seemed to choke on her breath. “He’s after _Wanheda_?”

“He wants to become Wanheda.” Lexa stated, her voice quieter now, if only to help hide the despair that wanted to strangle her. At the resounding shocked silence Lexa went on. “Why else would he come so far? He has never left his territory. Never. He knows the moment he leaves it he loses all advantage and that I will chase him down. With Dante gone, he holds the pack together. He _knows_ his death would endanger his people.”

“Yet still he came,” Lexa continued, her voice building its strength as she went on, as she honed the fear into determination. “He is risking _everything_ by coming here. And for what? This is a humans town. There is nothing here. We have been running in circles on why he would come to here of all places; but now we know. Because there is only one thing that _could_ be motivation enough.” The wood creaked under her fingers as her grip tightened. “He’s here for Wanheda. He’s here to kill Clarke.”

“Shit,” Anya breathed, and Lexa silently agreed. Shit was an understatement. “I mean it… yeah, it makes sense. It makes sense.” She shook her head, but Lexa didn’t know whom it was directed at. Anya probably didn’t either. “We can’t let him get it. He can’t get that amount of power.”

Lexa looked to Indra, but she wasn’t speaking, staring at the ground.

“Are we any closer to finding him?” Anya asked into the heavy silence of the room.

“No.” Lexa answered, her soft voice deceiving. “His scent is here, but it is incredibly faint. And it always gets swallowed up by humans. We still don’t know where he’s hiding, _how_ he is…”

Anya could only hold Lexa’s stare for a moment before she was spinning around and cursing.

Lexa glanced to Indra again. She was still silent, but Lexa thought she knew what she was thinking, if only because Lexa had always had a mind that was inclined for the realistic approach—no matter how grim, how much physical pain the mere thought brought her. Indra finally looked up, and when she met Lexa’s gaze and Lexa saw the steel in her eyes she already knew what she was going to say.

“It is too dangerous to risk Cage having that much power.” Indra muttered. Lexa’s grip on the table became white-knuckled. Indra’s stare didn’t shift off her. “Clarke can’t defend herself. You have only just got into training with her. If he finds her and goes for her, and she’s alone, she won’t last a second. We can’t afford to let him get that close.”

Lexa fought to keep her breathing even.

Anya blinked as she followed onto Indra’s meaning. “You’re saying we should kill her? Take Wanheda for ourselves?”

Lexa hadn’t seen Indra hadn’t look so solemn in a long time. “We cannot protect her at all times.” Indra went on, and her gaze remained on Lexa, because she knew she was the one to convince. “She’s proven to be stubborn and impulsive. She dared to challenge the pack on the full moon. She cannot be trusted to such a degree as this— _everything_ would rest on this. What do you think Cage will do if he becomes Wanheda?”

“Clarke is stronger than you believe.” Lexa countered, but Indra’s nostrils flared and she didn’t give in.

“She is a danger to us _all_. Take Wanheda yourself. Cage would never dare to take you on then. You say that the only reason he comes here is for Wanheda, and I agree, but you are forgetting the important part—he is here because he knows he has a _chance_.”

Lexa couldn’t take it anymore; her ribcage feeling like it was collapsing from the inside. Finally she tore her eyes off Indra’s and looked away. But this didn’t deter her. Indra came forward, still resolute.

“You are not a fool, Heda. You know this is the safest course of action.” Indra pleaded. Lexa closed her eyes.

“Clarke is an innocent.” Lexa said. She didn’t mention how she agreed, because it _was_ the safest and least difficult course—for them. Cage was scared of her. They all knew that. And if Lexa were the one with Wanheda’s power, there would be no chance that he would attempt to go after her for Wanheda. Sure, she’d grow an even bigger target over her head, but she already had one with being Heda and forming the coalition. It wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

“It is one death for the saving of many.” Indra pushed. At Lexa’s silence Indra let through a snarl. “Heda if you take Wanheda’s power no one will stand against you, you could finally destroy Cage, his Mountain. He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“What you’re asking for is murder.” Lexa snapped. She whirled onto Indra and Lexa could feel her control slipping. “Clarke is _innocent_. She was bitten and not of her own choice. She was thrown into this because she showed _mercy_. And you want me to slit her throat to make my life easier?”

“It is not just _your_ life.” Indra growled, her hackles rising and teeth becoming bared. Lexa was quick to replicate the challenge, pushing herself off the table and exposing her own snarl. “This is _everyone’s_. Where do you think Cage will stop? He experimented and deformed his own, _our_ own, solely for his gain. He has _nothing_ to hold him back from killing us all—especially if he gains that amount of power.”

“He will come for you.” Indra went on, stepping closer, and Lexa growled low at the invasion of space. “He will kill you. The coalition will break. The packs will fall back into wars over territory, or kill each other in finding the new Heda. He _cannot_ become Wanheda, at any cost. Do you not remember what happened in the forest?”

Lexa’s anger faltered then, her brow furrowing. “Last night?”

“No. Weeks ago. With Dante. Before she killed him, he told her to run; to _run_.” Indra was breathing hard in the heat of their argument. She gestured around them. “He didn’t tell us, he told _her_. He knew. He knew why Cage was here. He knew Cage was after Wanheda.”

Lexa exhaled slowly with the realisation. “That’s why Cage turned on him.” She whispered. “He was scared of what Cage would do with Wanheda.”

Indra clenched her jaw hard enough Lexa could hear the grind. “Even his own father knew the risk.” She muttered. “You must take Wanheda.”

“I will not murder an innocent.”

“She is a threat to all of us!” Indra thundered. “She cannot defend herself, she is weak, she will die the _second_ Cage finds her. You are giving her a mercy!”

“And what of your second?” Lexa threw back. Her lip curled and she exposed her teeth. “Do you not care for the pain and damage Clarke’s death would bring to her?”

Yet her words did nothing to calm her. The fire in Indra’s eyes only seemed to become brighter. “It is a sacrifice I am willing to make for the sake of my people. You _must_ take Wanheda, you have no reason to refrain from doing so!”

“She swore herself to me!” Lexa roared back, feeling her fury so close to breaking out of her and burning them all to the ground. “She willingly submitted to me, she is mine to _protect_!”

But Indra just scoffed sharply at her. “She is not of the pack,” she spat. “It is not your duty to protect her.”

A snarl ripped its way out of her throat, and like a chain reaction Indra echoed it as both their shoulders rose, their stances changing. “I will not—“

“Wait,” Anya said, but her voice got lost in the fray of Lexa’s anger. The rage wasn’t even all directed at Indra, it was also at herself, that she _didn’t_ want to kill Clarke, that the mere thought had her feeling like she’d been stabbed in the gut.

Indra stepped closer. “If you have _any_ care for your people you will take Wanheda before Cage—“

“Hey!” Anya snarled, and finally that seemed to stop them both in their tracks. Lexa was panting hard with her anger, but they both frowned as they looked to Anya, and Lexa realised that she’d nearly forgotten that Anya was even there. “Wait,” Anya repeated, lowering her voice, probably to try ease some calm between them. “Lexa, what did you say before?”

Lexa frowned at her, still trying to even her breathing. “I will not kill her,” she answered, somewhat unsurely, but Anya just rolled her eyes.

“Not that moron, _before_.” At Lexa’s continued blank stare Anya huffed. “You said she submitted to you. Willingly.”

Lexa glanced to Indra to see if she knew where this was going, but she looked equally confused. “Yes,” Lexa said slowly. “She struggled, a lot, but she did not stop me.”

Anya looked between them. “Don’t you know what this means?” At the responding silence Anya sighed with enough frustration Lexa thought she was going to slap them. “The legends, people. The stories. Wanheda was the First Werewolf—it won’t submit to anyone. Why would it? It _made_ werewolves, what could ever bring it to its knees and submit to another?”

The dread came again. It made her want to throw up.

Anya was still staring at her. “It submitted to _you_ , Lexa. Which shouldn’t be possible.”

Lexa’s gaze dropped to the floor. She couldn’t feel her hands.

There was a long silence. It seemed they were waiting on her to speak, but Lexa couldn’t, so eventually Indra was the one who spoke again. “This doesn’t change anything,” she muttered, but her voice wasn’t as strong anymore.

“It changes everything.” Anya refuted. “It means that Clarke will _listen_ to her. That Wanheda will. It means, in some way… Lexa already has Wanheda.”

Lexa’s eyes screwed shut. Her breath was shaking.

“It doesn’t change that she is a threat, that she is far too vulnerable for it to be safe—“

“But it _does_ change what we do. It’s not a clear-cut path. This can be used.”

She heard Indra sigh again, and they must have both looked to her because Lexa could smell the confusion and worry like it was inches from her nose. “Heda?” Indra tried. Lexa didn’t answer.

Anya spoke up this time. “Lexa, are you—“

“I need to be alone.”

Lexa finally opened her eyes, looking up. Indra and Anya were both frowning at her.

But it was getting harder to breathe, so Lexa’s face broke out into snarl. “ _Now_.”

It was clear they didn’t want to leave, that this felt far from finished, but her tone must have been more terrifying than she intended because Indra stiffly bowed her head and walked out. Anya remained, even took a step towards her. But Lexa stepped back.

“That includes you.” She muttered. She met Anya’s eyes. “Leave.”

“Lexa,” Anya breathed, and her voice was so soft now, the tone that she very rarely used. “You know what this means—“

“I won’t ask you again.” Lexa cut off. Anya blinked at her.

But she obeyed, even if there was hurt in her eye and she ground her teeth. “Fine. Don’t talk to me. Just go fucking brood like you always do.”

She stormed out before Lexa could say another word. Anya slammed the door shut, unsurprisingly, and Lexa waited till she knew they out of her earshot before she released a slow breath and swore.

“Fuck. _Fuck_.” She turned around, grit her teeth like that would stop the overwhelming pain in her chest. Her hands were shaking and she could feel the energy underneath, so with a snarl she came forward and slammed her fist through the desk, smashing into the wood and leaving a jagged hole in the edge.

Lexa fell into the nearest wall and let her back slide against it until she was sitting. Her head fell into her hands and she tangled her fingers into her hair.

“Fuck.” She whispered, and it was the last word she spoke before the tear that she been fighting back finally fell.

It had been so long. She had thought she wouldn’t have to deal with this again. It was a naïve thought, always had been, but in terms of the heart Lexa had always been a naïve fool. That was something she knew.

She sat there and all she could think of was _her_. It had been years, but still just the thought made it feel like the entirety of the ocean was flooding her lungs. She felt the phantom ache at her neck, at the mark that lay just under her collarbone. She could remember how it felt when it was made, the overwhelming joy as her mate had sunk her teeth into her skin.

And she could remember putting a bullet into her head.

-

Octavia didn’t knock as she slowly pushed open the door.

She probably should have, considering what happened last time, but she was apprehensive on even _coming_ here for this, and she knew that if she didn’t just go in her nerves would eat her up and she’d turn right back around. So. She simply used the key given to her years ago and went in.

Her steps were light and somewhat shaky as she crept through. She glanced into the living room but saw no one, and a quick check of the kitchen proved fruitless as well. With a sigh she decided for upstairs. She was probably in there anyway; otherwise she wasn’t here at all. Octavia tried to shove down the anxiety in her throat as she carefully made her way up the stairs, wondering with each step just how good of idea it would be to abandon this idea entirely and to go home. Although she’d probably end up going back to Indra and get the scolding of her life.

It didn’t seem appealing, but the idea of going home to her brother and to pretend everything was fine, that her entire life hadn’t just been turned on its head and she was barely keeping up seemed worse than taking a few insults from Indra.

Octavia paused as she made it to the top. She walked for the closest door, the one she knew to be Clarke’s, and her hand hovered over the handle for a good minute as she stared down at it. She was overthinking this. It was fine. She just came here to talk, there was nothing to be scared or nervous about.

Except there was. Clarke’s apparent lycanthropy and snarl—a sound she could still hear the echo of if she concentrated hard enough—being motivation enough for her cautiousness. Clarke had changed ever since she’d come here, but now Octavia was starting to comprehend _why_ and fully how. She needed to do this. She just needed to open the door and—

“O?”

Octavia jumped at her name, and she spun around only to see Raven standing there, slowly stepping out through the doorway to her own room. “Raven, hey,” Octavia breathed, and Raven didn’t look as surprised at Octavia’s sudden appearance than she expected.

Raven sighed. “I’ve really got to get that key off you.”

Octavia shot her shaky grin. “Good luck with that.”

Raven actually seemed to relax at the snark. Her shoulders lost some of their tension, and she leaned more casually against the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to Clarke.” Octavia said, and Raven pursed her lips.

“She’s asleep.” She nodded her head in the doors direction. “I wouldn’t go in. Turning is exhausting for her. She’s pretty much dead to the world right now.”

Octavia’s face fell. “Oh.” Shit. She should have accounted for that. She herself wasn’t particularly exhausted, but she _was_ tired, if probably not to the same degree as Clarke. “Right.”

Raven’s brow creased. “Why do you need to talk to her?”

Octavia hesitated, but at Raven’s continued stare she gave in. “Finn.” She answered softly.

It hurt to see the pain that flashed across Raven’s face. She pushed herself off the doorway, standing up fully. “Ah, right.” She released a shaky breath. “Makes sense.”

Octavia couldn’t hold the words in. It was all she’d been able to think about since finding out last night. “She killed him.” Octavia breathed, only to have Raven sigh and shake her head.

“It’s not like that.” Raven argued, and at Octavia’s frown she clenched her jaw. She watched her moment—Octavia couldn’t read her, and had no idea what she was thinking—until suddenly Raven’s shoulders slumped and she waved a hand at her. “Fine. Fuck it. Come on, come in here.”

Octavia’s brow furrowed harder. “Raven what—?”

Raven rolled her eyes and came forward, grabbing her arm and tugging her with her. “Follow me. Come on.”

She tried to protest but Raven just ignored her and dragged her. She pulled her in her room and pushed her in, leaving Octavia to stand there in the middle of Raven’s room with no idea on what was happening, while Raven strode through, grabbing a chair at the far side near the wall.

“Raven what are you doing?” Octavia tried again. Raven looked at her at least this time.

She nodded at the bed behind her. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog.” Octavia scowled.

Raven just arched an eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh har, har. Very funny.”

“I know, I’m hilarious. Now stop being difficult and sit down before I throw you out the door.”

Octavia grumbled some insults under her breath but complied, sitting at the edge of the bed. Raven came and pulled up the chair to in front of her. She gave them some space between each other, but they were still close enough that it was clear this was intended as a conversation, an intense one by the feel of things. Octavia watched curiously as Raven sat down only to immediately get up again with a curse and hurry over to her desk. She snatched a random pen and sat back down.

Now it was Octavia who raised her brow. “Is this a therapy session?”

Raven glared at her. “No, moron, I just like having shit to fiddle with. And considering what I’m about to say, well. It’s not going to go easy. Be a miracle if I get it out really.”

“Raven, what are you talking about?” Octavia asked, still feeling at a complete loss.

Raven stared at her for a heavy beat before she spoke. “I was there O. When Finn died.” Octavia’s eyes widened and Raven hastened to add on. “Not _there_ there, but I was there after. Right after. You know how Clarke said it was an accident I found out what she was? It was. I came in the morning after. I didn’t know, of course, what I’d be walking in on, I had just wanted to surprise her.” She laughed then, but it was empty and bitter. “Quite a bit of irony on that, I suppose.”

“You were there?” Octavia echoed, leaning forward. “You know what happened?”

“Look O, Finn is… what happened with him was a lot. A _lot_. For the both of us, all of us. I know you’re new to this whole werewolf thing, but you have to understand that Clarke isn’t. And she didn’t have a pack like you do now. She had no one. She didn’t know what was going to happen.”

Octavia swallowed thickly. Guilt was a heavy thing in her chest, and it hurt to breathe. “I know I… I should have known, shouldn’t have jumped her immediately.”

Raven let out a long sigh. It was such an old sound, and Octavia had never heard Raven sigh like that before. “What’s done is done, alright? But you should talk to her. I know _you_ didn’t know, that you couldn’t have, but it still hurt. This whole werewolf thing, it’s not the same for everyone. And Clarke… well, she’s still a little fucked up over it.”

Raven paused. She stared at her hands, and Octavia saw she had begun to spin the pen between her fingers.

“I can tell you what happened with Finn.” She said. Octavia could feel her heart beating erratically in her chest. “It’s not easy, O. It’s complicated and it’s—it’s a lot. It’s a fucking lot. Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yeah.” Octavia replied, her voice falling quiet like Raven’s. “I want to know, Raven. Why it hurt you guys so much.”

Raven nodded mutely. She used her free hand to check her phone from her pocket. A frown fell across her face. “I’ve got an hour till I’ve got to leave for work until I’ll be really late, so I’ll try keep it as quick as possible.”

Raven looked up, meeting Octavia’s eyes, but she could only hold her gaze a moment before it dropped back to her hands. She continued to twirl the pen between her fingers.

“Clarke had been bitten a week before.” Raven started, and Octavia felt her heart somehow speed up faster in her chest. “We had been driving in the rain when we hit the fucker. It was a werewolf, obviously. We just saw it as an animal and Clarke wanted to put it out of its misery. It had hurt itself after the crash. Poor bastard was in pain, it would have been cruel to leave it.” Raven grew a sardonic smile. “Ironic, huh? Anyway. She put it down, but it bit her as she did. That’s how she got infected.”

The pen paused in its twirling. Raven looked up. Her throat bobbed with the weight of her swallow.

“And a week later on the full moon, it happened.”

_-_

_Raven knew something was wrong the second she pulled up._

_It was early, and normally she was far adverse to any time before midday, but Clarke had been sick all week and she had intended to come check up on her. She knew she had Finn who was probably circling her feet at every moment, and because of that she knew Clarke was_ also _probably becoming absolutely sick of him. She figured it’d be best to slip in and throw in a couple insults. Plus, well, Raven herself was bored and annoying Clarke was always a sure fire way to entertain herself._

 _But something was wrong. She had parked across the street, and when she looked over at the smaller house of the ones across this lot, she saw one of the front windows was cracked. There were no lights on, which admittedly wasn’t_ too _strange but Finn had this hobby with carving wood—he held a similar artistic spirit to Clarke—and normally he’d sneak downstairs and carve away in the living room, or even outside. More than once had Raven stopped by and ran into him outside or passed by him as he was lost away in his own world on the couch._

_Raven stepped out of her truck, snatching the coffees she’d nabbed on the way here and bringing them with her. She crossed the street cautiously, and the closer she got the more she was overcome with such an unknown feeling of dread. Her skin felt itchy with her nerves._

_She shook her head. “Stop overthinking it.” She muttered at herself. “It’s fine.”_

_She treaded her way up the few steps to the house, raising her hand and knocking against the door._

_No response._

_Raven sighed, narrowing her eyes and gripping the cardboard holder with the coffees tighter. She knocked again._

_Nothing._

_“Fucking hell Griffin,” Raven scowled and curled her hand into a fist, pounding against the door as hard as she could. She didn’t care that it was highly likely that Clarke was probably just asleep—she’d been passed out the majority of the week with whatever flu she’d caught—but there was a coldness in her gut that was making her uneasy._

_There was no answer._

_Raven clenched her jaw and stopped herself from forcibly kicking down the door. That’d probably be a step too far, even for her. With a mental fuck it she tried the handle, and completely stilled when the knob actually turned. It was unlocked._

_The coldness in her stomach spread further._

_Carefully, she pushed the door open. Raven stood in the doorway as it swung open at a painfully slow pace, letting out a sharp creak that she had been constantly hounding Finn over to get fixed. But the second the door spread open wide enough that she could see into the house the coffees slipped from her suddenly limp hands and fell to the ground._

_“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh_ fuck _—_ “ _Raven staggered back and immediately brought her hand to her nose, trying in vain to block out the thick stench that slammed into her. It reeked of copper and something heavier, something that instantly had her stomach rolling and her dry heaving._

 _There was blood everywhere. Nearly all the furniture was riddled into splintered pieces, the black leather couch was nothing but torn up remains, the oak floorboards drenched in red and half-snapped chair legs. And there was claw marks, these massive claw marks on nearly every surface—on the walls, on the floor, even on the_ ceiling _at some points—it was absolute and complete utter carnage._

_Raven’s heart lurched into her throat and she nearly choked on it. “Finn. Finn! Clarke!”_

_There was no answer. Her eyes were watering with the intensity of the smell, and_ god _not one part of her wanted to go in, but that blood had to come from somewhere, from some_ one _._

_And considering how much there was, she very much doubted they’re alive._

_“Clarke! CLARKE! FINN!” Raven shouted as loud as she physically could, ignoring the strain in her throat as she staggered into the house and almost immediately slipped from the blood on the floor. Raven cursed and she felt like her body had gone completely numb. She ran into the shredded living room and saw nothing, sprinted up the stairs to the second floor to where the bedroom was, but when she shouldered the door open it was the same as any other room in the house._

_Raven bit back her panic. Her breathing was coming in such fast sharp breaths her head was getting dizzy. “Finn! Clarke! Fucking—fucking_ anyone _, please, fuck, just answer me,_ answer _me—“_

_The bed was torn apart similar to the couch downstairs. The carpeted floor was spread with white feathers and wool, the wardrobe was smashed in and its contents were bleeding out on the floor, clothes strewn about everywhere. Raven cursed and checked the other rooms upstairs—the study, the bathroom, anything with a door—but it all revealed the same._

_Clarke should have been in bed upstairs. She should have. God, she’d been unable to even lift an arm for the past week, if this was the result of something breaking in, unless Finn saved her, there was no way she’d even be able to run. A sob broke out of her before she could stop it. This couldn’t be happening. Finn and Clarke were some of the most important people in her life. Finn had been her best friend since childhood, and Clarke had been her best friend since high school._

_And sure, she’d once had a crush on him and it had initially created a rift between them, but they’d gotten past it like they always seemed to do. They weren’t even just friends anymore they were_ family _, they couldn’t be dead, they fucking couldn’t._

_Raven kept shouting out their names, blurring down the stairs and tripping more than once, gripping onto the bannister that had lost many of its rungs to keep herself from falling._

_She bolted through the living room, felt her gut twist even tighter and rob her breath at still seeing no one when Clarke’s small little art studio was wrecked and abandoned. When she checked the bathroom down there she was surprised to see the door hanging off its hinges, deep and ragged claw marks streaking and crisscrossing over its entire length._

_“Finn! Clarke! Will one of you_ please _just fucking—“_

_Raven froze mid-step as she entered the kitchen. Relief slammed her with such intensity her knees buckled, and she staggered over like a fawn learning how to walk to the still body of Clarke, sitting up against the wall, her knees hugged tight to her chest and arms wrapped so closely around her Raven was sure it hurt._

_“Clarke,” Raven breathed and she collapsed just in front of her, her stomach seeming to drop even lower when she saw the blood that was smeared all over the pale skin—and the fact that she was also completely naked._

_Clarke was staring down at seemingly nothing and when Raven lunged forward and tried to pull her into a relieved hug, Clarke didn’t react at all, not even when Raven backed away and cradled her cheeks, forcing her head up so she could look at her._

_“Hey, hey, Clarke, can you hear me? Do you see me?” Raven urged, her head buzzing with adrenaline and fear. The usually bright blue eyes were dull and glazed, and it took a worrying amount of time for Clarke to slowly blink, and recognition grew over her features._

_Raven saw her mouth was smeared with red._

_“Raven?” Clarke whispered, her brow furrowing. Raven’s shoulders slumped so hard she fell forward._

_“Oh thank fuck,” she briefly closed her eyes, a slightly hysterical chuckle breaking out of her. “I thought, fuck, I thought you were totally gone.”_

_When she opened her eyes she saw Clarke was still staring at her. Raven swallowed as she properly took her in. God, she looked utterly terrifying. Her blonde hair was practically dyed red with how much blood she was covered in. And it was_ that _thought that suddenly had that paralysing fear crashing into her once more, relief quick to be shoved out. Because Raven was also now noticing that while Clarke was drenched in blood—there wasn’t a single injury on her._

_Which meant the blood wasn’t hers._

_“Clarke, where’s Finn?” Raven questioned, terror reducing her voice to nothing but a breathless whisper._

_Clarke just blinked at her. Raven didn’t think she was entirely present._

_But the fear hit harder until she couldn’t even breathe, her chest feeling like someone had tied a string around one of her ribs and was pulling it inwards, tighter and tighter and tighter, as if the only goal was to make it snap and pierce her from inside._

_She felt it snap with an explosion of anger. “Where’s Finn Clarke!” she yelled and Clarke didn’t even_ flinch _, she barely reacted at all, she just did that same fucking infuriating slow blink._

_“Finn,” she murmured, and for the first time since Raven had been here she saw some semblance of life come back into her. But it wasn’t the good type. Her eyes suddenly became glossy, her breathing quickened, and Raven knew what it meant but she didn’t dare believe it. Clarke screwed her eyes shut as tears spilled out onto her cheeks, her head falling into knees. “No, no, no—“_

_She just repeated the word over and over. Raven was nearly vibrating with her fear however and snarled, grabbing Clarke’s shoulders and forcing her up. “Hey!” she snapped, desperately trying to ignore the twisting in her heart. “Answer me Clarke,_ where _is he? Where is Finn? Where is—“_

_Clarke’s eyes shifted off her, and with a trembling hand she raised an arm and pointed to the right of her, into the kitchen. Raven’s head whipped around and she felt every breath get snatched out of lungs when she saw the edge of a foot peeking out from where the wall of the breakfast bar stood. It wasn’t moving. It was utterly still._

_“No,” Raven choked on her tongue and scrambled up to her feet, stumbling over only to stagger back like she’d been hit when she saw Finn lying there on the tiles. She could only stare at him for a second before she lunged for the nearest sink and threw up into it._

_Because it wasn’t Finn. It had been, it_ was _, but now it was just a body. Remains. Ripped apart and mangled, torn to such a degree she didn’t think she would even recognise him if Clarke hadn’t have pointed him out. The only identifying feature left was his eyes, but they were pale and glazed, and they didn’t hold the warmth and mischief that they should have held._

_She couldn’t look at him any longer. If she did she was going to throw up again. It felt like there were cinder blocks chained at her ankles as she forced herself to move, to get away from what Raven was sure would be an image to forever haunt her nightmares. She didn’t think she would ever forget it._

_She was struggling to breathe, and she had to raise her hands and push her palms into her eyes, force out a steadying breath when she was so sure she was going to pass out._

_“Come on, fucking come on! You can’t break. You can’t break.” Raven grit her teeth, waiting until her chest wasn’t rising so frantically anymore, and even if her head was still dizzy she at least felt like she wasn’t going to drop unconscious, so she figured she’d done a good enough job._

_She pulled her arms to her side and gasped like she’d broken through water. “Alright,” she breathed, nodding to herself. Her hands curled into fists. “Alright. Okay. Be logical. Be logical, you’re fine.”_

_Raven looked over at Clarke, and saw she’d devolved back into a similar state to before. She was probably going into shock. Or maybe she’d already been in one. Or maybe she was coming out of one. She didn’t fucking know,_ Clarke _was the damn idiot in med school, she had no idea what the fuck was happening, she didn’t know any—_

_“Clarke. Clarke, I need you to tell me what happened.” Raven dropped by her side again, gently grasping her arms. She got no reaction. Clarke continued to stare down at nothing. Raven cursed and stopped herself from throttling her. “Hey!” she snapped, and this time she gave her a rough shake. When she got nothing again Raven grabbed her cheeks and tilted her up so they locked sights again. “Clarke. Look at me. What happened? I need you to talk to me. I cannot help you if you don’t talk to me.”_

_It took too long, but after some more prodding and insults she seemed to finally break through to her again. “Finn is dead.” She whispered, and Raven tried very hard not to curl over in her despair. Instead she blinked back the stinging in her eyes._

_“Yes, he is.” Her voice shook so hard it was a wonder Clarke heard her. “But how? Clarke did—did something break in? An animal? There’s_ claw _marks all over the place, blood is everywhere, the furniture is wrecked—“_

_Clarke started to tremble._

_“—At first I thought it was a break in but, fucking hell no person could have done this I mean, shit Clarke, it’s absolute_ chaos _.” Raven watched Clarke, saw more tears leak from her eyes and turn red halfway down her face, too much blood already caked there and infecting the drop. “What happened Clarke? What the hell happened?”_

_“I killed him.”_

_Raven stilled. “What?” she whispered, her brow furrowing._

_But Clarke just kept staring resolutely at her. “I killed him. I-I killed him and…”_

_“Clarke, stop it. I don’t mean to be callous but we_ really _do not have time for your guilt right now. Did you leave the backdoor open or something? So an animal got in? Like a—like a coyote or, fucking I don’t know, a fox or some shit?”_

 _“Raven I_ killed _him. I killed him. I—“_

 _Her words broke off into a sob. Raven released a shaky breath. “Okay, okay it’s alright. Just… just wait here okay? I’ll get you some clothes, so you’re less naked and all.” She had been standing up as she said the words, but now she paused, watching Clarke closely. “Hold on, you’re not naked because… I mean, it was an_ animal _right? Like someone didn’t come and try… force you, or something?”_

_But Clarke wasn’t looking at her. She was staring at Finn’s body now, of what little you could see when it was hidden behind the breakfast bar. It hit Raven suddenly that there was a chance this was on purpose. You couldn’t see his remains from here, just hit foot, just enough to know he was there but not enough to see the damage._

_Raven bit her tongue and headed for the stairs._

_She was quick to run up and slip into the bedroom, scavenging through the shredded clothes in an attempt to find something that wasn’t destroyed, and though it took a painful amount of minutes and enough cursing to probably land her a spot in hell, she finally managed to find a shirt and a pair of jeans not yet torn apart._

_Before she ran back down though she got out her phone and called 911. She still didn’t know what had happened—she didn’t understand what Clarke was on about with_ her _being the killer—but they needed help and fast. She mentioned his body and the fact he was ripped to pieces, and that most likely some animal had gotten in and attacked him. She didn’t mention that Clarke was covered in blood that wasn’t her own. She didn’t know whose it was. She was hoping it was whatever animals’ had broken in, but Raven hadn’t found another body._

_The only other option said that it was Finn’s blood, but that didn’t make sense._

_Then again nothing about this did._

_Raven zipped down the stairs and rushed back out into the kitchen, unsurprised to see Clarke in the same position as before. “Hey come here, I’ve got you some clothes,” she said, but Clarke only reacted when Raven crouched down next to her and grabbed her arm, gently pulling her to her feet. Clarke let her without resistance, though Raven honestly thought at this point all she’d have to do was grip her hand and tug her in whatever direction and she’d limply follow along._

_It was slow going but they managed it. Raven stepped back, keeping one hand on Clarke as she finished pulling the shirt on. It only helped a little bit really. She was still covered in blood; most of it dry and cracked now, but wet enough in some patches that tiny red drops were appearing through the grey shirt._

_“Alright, there you go. As much as I love you, I’m not particularly fond of your naked ass,” she tried to joke, but the attempted levity did nothing. Raven wasn’t shocked. The words felt awkward and disjointed in her mouth before she’d even said it. But she was trying extremely hard not to panic and break down, because Finn’s body was_ right over there _and if she started she wouldn’t be able to stop._

_She can do it when the cops come. When there are others to help._

_Then she can break._

_“Okay, now that you’re clothed, I’m going to_ really _need you to tell me what happened Clarke. Why, or how, or just—just tell me, alright? Talk to me. Please.” She moved so she was standing in front of her, but when their eyes locked Raven saw that something was awakening on Clarke’s face. Maybe reality was finally starting to settle in for her, because when she looked at her, her eyes weren’t as dull, they became clearer, more coherent._

_And instead it was replaced with absolute devastation._

_“I killed him.” She whispered, and she stepped back only to trip over her own foot. “Shit,_ fuck _, Raven I killed him, I tore him apart—“_

_“What the hell are you on about Clarke?” Raven snapped. Her nails dug into her palms with how hard she was clenching her fists. “Like, fuck I know you take the blame of everything but this is not the goddamn time—“_

_“It was_ me _, Raven. I’m—I did it. I felt it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop it. Fuck, I tried, I_ tried _so hard,” a sob escaped her and she screwed her eyes shut. “But it didn’t work. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t control myself, I just, I just saw_ him _.” She let out a shuddered breath then, tears that Raven had thought had run out slipping out. “I just saw prey.” She breathed._

_Raven could feel her blood getting colder and colder. That dread came back, the one that coiled in her stomach and made her want to heave her guts out. She took a slow step back. “Clarke…”_

_Clarke’s eyes blinked open, and she looked up at her. And suddenly a laugh broke out of her, but it was empty and grating, making Raven’s shoulders stiffen. “I think… I think I’m a…”_

_Raven was breathing faster. They now stood at near opposite sides of the room. She didn’t know when the gap between them had gotten so big._

_Clarke swallowed and it was practically audible. “I think I’m a werewolf.” She murmured, so quiet Raven had to strain her hearing._

_The fury that blazed through her was sudden and all consuming. Raven scoffed sharply and shook her head. “Fuck you Clarke. How dare you make a joke out of something like this? Finn is dead, he is_ dead _, his fucking blood is spread all over goddamn house, and you have the fucking_ audacity, _to make his death a joke!”_

_Clarke was staring at her with wide eyes, her jaw dropped. “Raven, I’m not… I’m not lying. The—the thing we hit, a week ago, you remember? On the road, back from the party. You remember that right?”_

_“Of course I fucking remember.” Raven snarled._

_Clarke recoiled at the harshness in her voice but seemed to push past it. “Then you remember that it bit me, right? Raven I think it—I think it passed it on. I mean you saw it didn’t you? That_ thing _wasn’t a wolf, not really.”_

_Raven stopped herself from grabbing the nearest broken chair and lobbing it at her. “It was dark Clarke, we couldn’t see fucking shit. It was just a wolf—“_

_“It was_ massive _, that was not just a wolf—“_

 _“So it’s fucking what?” Raven cut off, stepping forward. “A werewolf?_ That’s _what you’re going with? Yeah. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, if you’re in shock and this is your own fucked way of dealing with it, or_ whatever _, but this is Finn, Clarke. This is_ Finn. _”_

_Clarke moved forward too, and there was desperation to her movements, to the pleading in her eyes and the way she couldn’t seem to stop shaking. “Raven please, I’m not lying, I know it sounds insane—“, Raven scoffed again but Clarke ignored it, “but I’m telling truth, I’m telling the truth. I’m not lying. I swear. Come on Raven, I get bitten by some creature like that and then I’m so sick for a week I can’t even move, the bite burning when it wasn’t even infected?”_

_“Please, I’m begging you,” Clarke continued, coming forward but stopping just out of arms reach. Raven ignored the wetness she could feel leaking out of her eyes. “I’m not lying. I-I killed him. The full moon, it was last night. You can check, I was in bed doing nothing but the second, the_ second _the moon was up it was like—it was like pain I’ve never felt.”_

_“Stop.” Raven whispered._

_But Clarke kept going. “And he came and he—he didn’t know what was wrong, and I couldn’t even speak because it hurt, god everything just_ hurt _. I can’t even… I can’t even tell you what it was like. But I tried to stop it, you have to understand, I tried so fucking hard.”_

 _“_ Stop _.” Raven urged again, her voice harder this time._

_Clarke took another step closer. “Rae please, you have to believe me, I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t—“_

_“STOP IT.” Raven roared and Clarke froze mid-plea._

_“Raven…” Clarke said softly, but this time Raven was done and she backed away when Clarke tried to reach for her._

_“This is Finn, Clarke. This is fucking_ Finn _.” Raven snarled in a whisper. Her eyes burned and she felt the tears fall but she kept herself up, even her if voice trembled and it cracked and it resembled more a collapsing pillar than anything. “His body is right there. It’s right fucking there, he is_ ripped _apart, he is nothing but bloody, fucking tattered remains! And you have the fucking nerve to spout shit about_ werewolves _?”_

_Clarke was crying too. “Rae—“_

_“Don’t fucking come near me.” Raven spat, and Clarke flinched like the words were a physical blow, slowly and meekly stepping back. Raven’s breathing was coming fast, and her fingers were numb with just hard she was clenching her hands now, her fists shaking. “Just don’t.” She whispered. “I thought—I thought you’d have the fucking decency to be serious, but I guess I thought too good of you.”_

_Clarke was looking paler than before, and while Raven initially thought it was in the shock and despair at Finn’s remains—which it probably mostly was—she suddenly realised it was more than that when Clarke abruptly staggered back and for the sink. Raven followed after her out of instinct more than anything, but she gasped when she saw Clarke vomit into the sink._

_It looked like blood._

_Raven couldn’t breathe. There was a buzzing in her ears, and when she took a slow step backwards she couldn’t feel the tiles beneath her feet. Clarke remained hunched over the sink, red-crusted hair falling to curtain her face from where she had thrown it over her shoulder to keep it away from her mouth. Raven could only stare numbly as Clarke carefully pulled herself away. Her eyes slowly lifted and locked sights with her. Fresh blood dribbled off her lips._

_Raven swallowed, struggling to keep herself upright. “Get out.” She breathed, and Clarke frowned at her._

_“Raven, I can’t—“_

_“Get out!” Raven snapped and Clarke jumped back. “I don’t know what the_ fuck _you think you’re doing, whatever sick fucking prank or joke or whatever, but get the fuck out of my sight.”_

_“Don’t do this, please Rae, I’m not lying I’m not—“_

_Raven growled and came forward, roughly shoving her backwards and into the kitchen counter. Her hand caught a stack of plates near the sink and they fell to the floor, smashing into the tiles with an ear-splinting crash. “Get out! Get the fuck out!”_

_Clarke was just staring at her, and there was so much pain in every line in her face that Raven could feel her own heart breaking and shattering as well, the pieces lodging themselves in her lungs and bleeding her from the inside. It only took one more harsh shove and a yell before Clarke finally obeyed, tripping over her feet as she backpedalled for the back door. She paused though all of a sudden, her eyes catching on the floor, but when Raven followed her sight she saw she was staring at Finn’s mauled body._

_Clarke’s gaze flicked back to hers, and Raven fought off the guilt she could already feel festering inside at the hurt that drew Clarke’s features. She inhaled shakily. “Raven please, don’t—don’t do this. I don’t lie to you, you know that, you_ know _that, fuck Rae.” More tears fell from her eyes and she bit her lip to stop them, forced a shuddering breath. “Raven please—“_

_She tried to reach a hand and Raven slapped it away. “Don’t come near me.” She snapped and Clarke looked at her like she’d never seen her before. Raven blinked away her own tears. “Now turn the fuck around, and get. Out.”_

_Raven might as well have buried her hand in Clarke’s chest and ripped her heart out. Clarke’s gaze fell to the floor, her eyes shutting tight. Raven just watched her, ignoring the nausea in her gut and trying not to throw up, before after a century long minute Clarke mutely nodded her head and looked up. She didn’t say anything as she turned around and walked out the door. Raven could only stand and feel her breathing spiral out of control as she watched her best friend walk away, watched her run and disappear from the scene of her boyfriend’s death._

_Raven let her back fall into the kitchen cabinets and she slid down until she was similar to how Clarke had been sitting before. A sob clawed its way up her throat and she didn’t stop it this time. She buried her head into her knees and cried. She let herself break._

_She only stopped sobbing when she heard the cops knock at the door._

_-_

There was a long silence after Raven’s words.

“You have to understand O,” Raven said, quietly and slightly breathless, the memories that were being forced to be dug up far too intense to come easy. “I had just walked in on Finn being dead. He was suddenly gone, his corpse was on the _tiles_ —I wasn’t thinking, neither of us were.” Her gaze fell to the floor and she exhaled a shaky breath. She blinked away the wetness in her eyes. “At the time, I just thought it was just some sick prank. I mean, werewolves? They weren’t real, they _couldn’t_ be, and when Clarke threw up blood, all I could think was it was just some kind of fucked up joke.”

Octavia had been getter progressively paler the longer she’d gone on. She was watching her closely now, as she had been the entire time, because Finn had been her friend too really. Maybe not to the same degree, but she _knew_ him. Played dares off each other at parties and rolled their eyes together when Clarke—or Raven, sometimes both—would do something stupid, which tended to happen more often than not.

Finn’s death had always been subject that was never touched. It was pushed back and it was hidden and it had become such an ironclad rule: don’t talk about Finn. _Don’t_ bring up those weeks of such overwhelming pain that, really, had never quite moved on.

She glanced up, saw Octavia quickly wipe away the tears at her cheeks with her sleeve. She cleared her throat. “What—what happened then? After?” she asked, and Raven for her sake pretended her voice didn’t tremble, that it wasn’t a shaky croak.

Raven pulled in a steadying breath. She’d gotten over the hard part. She hadn’t talked about Finn in a long time. Which wasn’t surprising, considering she was roommate’s with Clarke. Not exactly the most suited audience for this type of thing.

“It’s strange you know,” Raven started, as if she’d never stopped. She twirled the pen between her fingers, watched it spin with an ease that had taken her hours of YouTube tutorials to accomplish. “Even if… even if I was so _angry_ at her, for bringing up something like that, when the cops came I covered for her. I guess it was kind of instinct, but it was also because of what she said. Like yeah, I was angry, god I was fucking furious; but I couldn’t get those words out of my head.”

Octavia’s brow twitched. “What words?” she asked, leaning forward.

And Raven looked up with a smile. “‘ _I don’t lie to you’_.” She laughed and shook her head. “She wasn’t wrong. It didn’t mean I believed her, not then. But it also meant that I didn’t _not_ believe her, you know? The cops came and I told them I had come to the house like this, said everything but Clarke. Offered a few theories you know: since the body of the animal wasn’t there, maybe it’d gone after her.”

“So they looked for her of course. They didn’t find her. You’d know, it only takes that first turning and _bam_ ; you’re all werewolf. Instincts and all.” Raven paused then. Held the pen trapped between her forefinger and thumb. “I worried, though I refused to admit it. But… well, they didn’t find her that day, nor night. Then came next morning.”

“They found her?” Octavia cut in. Raven blinked, realising she had been staring at the stationary pen so long her eyes stung. She met Octavia’s gaze, found her captivated and leaning forward. She supposed Octavia was so eager because this was something she’d never expected to get.

“Not quite,” Raven said slowly. She sighed, began to spin the pen again. “I checked the news the next morning. Shitty idea, as I got a face full of Finn. But I saw something else. A nearby farm, just about all the livestock had been slaughtered. Absolute massacre. Poor buggers ripped to shreds.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. “Like Finn.”

Raven nodded solemnly. “Like Finn.” She echoed. “So, naturally, I jumped into the car and drove over. Wasn’t too far out, as I said, the farm was close by. Probably why Clarke got to it. She was there obviously. I found her nearby, naked and covered in fresh blood. I gave it a shot then. Because Finn may have died yesterday but… even _I’m_ not that stupid. Too many things were adding up, and too many other things weren’t. How did an animal get into house? _What_ animal could even do what happened with Finn? Could destroy a house to such a degree?”

Her breathing was starting to quicken. She forced herself to stop, to take a moment, gather herself. Octavia remained quiet and waited. “Most things come in threes.” Raven spoke up, and like that she fell back into the natural rhythm of recounting the story. Maybe it shouldn’t be so easy, or maybe she had just been waiting for too long to say it. “I wanted to see it. I wasn’t going to believe it otherwise. I told Clarke that tonight I would be there, and I wanted to see her turn. To prove she was lying.”

Octavia’s mouth opened then closed. She frowned at her. “But Clarke’s…?”

Raven arched a brow. “Unstable? Insane?”

Octavia threw a glare at her. “I wasn’t going to say that.” She muttered, and Raven smirked at her.

“Sure you weren’t. You’d be right, anyway. If you were going to hypothetically say that. Even then, just one day in and when I told her I was going to be there for her turning that night she refused. I wore her down, obviously, my charm knows no bounds.”

Octavia rolled her eyes.

Raven’s smile fell away. She looked down at her fingers, the twirling pen. “We found a cemetery. There was this crypt, had this little barred off bit that could work as a cage. We hid the day away in there. Didn’t talk a word. She sat at one corner, I sat in the other.” Raven swallowed and it felt like she was choking. “I think Finn’s death was just starting to sink in. What was there to say? It was a fucking mess.”

Octavia didn’t interject this time. Raven sighed and wiped at her eyes.

“She turned, obviously. That night. Locked herself in and told me to get back. I still kind of thought this was all some _really_ elaborate fucked up joke, but I listened anyway. But then the moon came up. And I heard the first crunch.” Raven’s brow creased as she stared at her hands. “It’s such a fucked sound. You don’t forget it. You’d probably know it now, you can hear it yourself. But… god, I’ll never forget that moment. The first time. The first snap of bone.”

There was a beat of heavy silence. Raven exhaled shakily and closed her hands around the pen in a tight fist. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, glancing at the time and cursing. “Shit, I’m going to be late.” She muttered with a scowl.

Octavia had been staring at the floor—it was a lot to process, Raven supposed, even if Octavia had asked for it—but at her words she quickly looked up. “Oh, do you have—“

“She has work.”

They both immediately jumped to their feet at the unseen voice, but when Raven’s head snapped to the doorway she saw Clarke there, leaning against it with her arms crossed. Raven swore and threw the pen at her, to which Clarke ducked with ease.

“What have I said about sneaking up on people?” Raven growled, feeling her heart slowly come back down from its abrupt spike.

Clarke raised her brow. “You had Octavia with you. I figured she’d know I was there.”

Raven frowned and looked to Octavia, but she seemed just as startled as she was. “What the hell, O? No warning?”

“I was distracted!” Octavia defended, throwing up her hands.

Raven squinted her eyes at her. “You’re a damn _werewolf_. You can smell from fuck-knows away. Hear shit like Superman. How the fuck could you not notice?”

“It was an intense conversation,” Octavia growled. “Excuse me for not _‘listening in_ ’ to my surroundings.”

Raven glared at her, but her words did make her pause. Her eyes slowly flicked back to Clarke, and she must have already known what she was about to say, because her face softened and her gaze became too knowing. “How long have you been there?” Raven asked quietly, and when Clarke answered with a nonchalant shrug Raven figured she’d been there the entire time.

“Not long.” She said, but she held her stare and they both knew she was lying. She cleared her throat suddenly. Her eyes shifted to Octavia and Raven saw Clarke shift on her feet, and she realised it was in fear, because now Octavia knew. She knew what happened. Why they had to leave Arkadia, why entire lives and dreams have been cut off so quickly and abruptly. Raven suddenly found _herself_ feeling nervous. There was a high chance that Octavia might see it as a murder, not an accident.

But Octavia seemed to pick up on the changed energy too. She offered Clarke a smile and shook her head as she came forward. “Come here,” she murmured, and Clarke only hesitated a moment before she caved and met her in the embrace. “I’m so sorry Clarke,” Raven heard her breathe, and she watched as Clarke trembled as Octavia held her. Raven let out a breath of her own relief. That was one crisis averted, at least. She checked her phone again, wincing at the time. She really _really_ needed to go.

She grabbed her bag from the chair and slung it over her shoulder. She didn’t even make past the doorway however until Clarke was pulling away from Octavia and grabbing her wrist.

“Hey, thank you Raven,” Clarke muttered softly, and Raven heard what Clarke wasn’t voicing. That Clarke couldn’t have been the one to tell Octavia. She felt her grip tighter to her wrist. “I know it’s… I know it’s hard. With Finn.”

Raven offered her a grin, tried to make it feel as strong as it usually did. “You can make it up with food and Netflix tonight, Griffin.”

Clarke’s softness fell away to a groan. “Don’t you dare say we’re watching Twilight again.”

Raven’s grin turned genuine at Clarke’s dismay. “We’re watching Twilight again!” she sang, and Clarke let her wrist go in favour of lightly pushing her back.

“Go to work. You can go be annoying someone else.”

“I’ll expect popcorn on my return.” Raven smirked, and Octavia snorted.

“You two are insane,” she laughed, and despite it being such an offhand comment, something so small and inconsequential, it made Raven pause. She stood there, and watched how Clarke grinned in that way that was halfway smug and proud, and how, like always, Octavia saw it and scowled. She slugged her in the arm, and apparently put some actual power behind it because Clarke let out a genuine wince and looked up wide-eyed at her.

It was so _normal_. Like nothing that had happened had happened. Like they were back in Arkadia, and Finn hadn’t died, and Clarke hadn’t been bitten, and everything that Raven had ever known hadn’t been thrown out the window and pulverised into the ground. She felt a warmth in a chest, and when she finally shook her head at the pair and walked out the door, she let through the tiny smile that had been trying to break out.

-

It was a strange passing, the following days.

She went through the last night of her turning in a sort of haze. After so long of nothing, of being so thoroughly clueless and lost, buried in the dark so much she’d forgotten the shade of the midday sky—now suddenly knowing somehow felt even more confusing then before. She’d adjusted to not knowing. To taking the days as they were, resigned to knowledge she knew she’d never find.

But she _did_ know now. She knew what the thing inside of her was. She knew that there was a reason why she’d always felt a disconnect between her and it. When she had seen Lexa first shift it was the first thing she’d noticed, that it was still _Lexa_ —the same gaze, same mannerisms, if slightly more animal—that when she turned, _she_ was still there. Clarke had never had that. She didn’t remember what happened when she turned. She could just feel the thing, a spirit apparently, rising up.

Except there was one night she did remember, and that was the first one. The one with Finn. She might have not been in control, unable to wrestle some semblance of restraint, but she had _felt_ it. Seen it. Sure it was blurry, sounds and actions folding into each other, but she still remembered. Remembered his screams and his pleading and the sensation of ripping into his throat. The worse being the part her—part of _it_ —that enjoyed it. The part that disgusted her so much the mere thought made her feel sick to the core.

Raven seemed to be taking it better than her. Which wasn’t surprising, but it didn’t mean that Clarke didn’t eye her grin with a certain longing as she excitedly went on about what it could mean: where had the spirit truly come from? Were werewolves entirely based on mythical followings or was there a legitimate biological factor that could be traced? Could Wanheda not even be a spirit at all, as the legends say, but perhaps something of a parasite that had been confused for one because of the aged times it had been born from?

It reminded Clarke a lot of the beginning, when they had first found out, and after the aftermath of Finn the excitement and scientific curiosity that had led to so many hours of research and integrations. Clarke could tell that Raven was wanting to head down that road again. That curiosity’s flame had been relit and she could see it in the way Raven visibly bit her tongue to hold back the questions.

The days went slow. When the full moon was passed, she still gave it an extra few days before she decided she really did need to see Lexa again. She ended up back at work again for brief interlude, but her mind was never really present and Wells had always been a tad too intuitive of her mood than she’d like. He could tell something was wrong, but he only tried once in getting her to talk before leaving her be.

Clarke released a slow sigh as she treaded up the now familiar driveway. She passed the wolf fountain and the cars, trying to shove away the nerves that wanted to take over her brain. It was strange to think that so much had happened in the span of a day. She could still feel the residual anger from Octavia being turned, but the more she focused on it, the more she realised it wasn’t entirely her.

The full moon was still close enough that her wolf hadn’t retreated yet, it hummed under her skin but the sensation wasn’t so all consuming as it had been before. It was receding, not yet enough that Clarke couldn’t feel it so close, but enough so she wasn’t as quick to bare her teeth. And because its presence still lingered she could feel it, even if she tried with every ounce of her to force it down; that the anger resided in not just that Octavia had been turned, but that she hadn’t been turned by her.

It was the same feeling that she had felt after Raven had shot her, ironically. Less of a want to kill and more of a want to bite. Octavia was one of her oldest friends, she supposed in some way her wolf saw her as one of her own, her pack. But now she’d been bitten by someone else. She wasn’t hers anymore.

She should probably talk to Lexa about it. She had no idea what she was doing—that at least hasn’t changed—and even if there was a bitterness on what happened that was directed at her, Lexa was still the one person she knew who she could talk to about werewolves and what everything meant. Well, Clarke supposed she could ask her now.

She knocked on the door and stepped back. It was only a moment later before it opened, and at seeing who stood behind the door Clarke quickly realised that today was not going to go well.

Tristan’s lip curled in something akin to disgust. “Mutt.” He growled low, which Clarke could only assume as same vague attempt of a greeting.

She offered him a tight smile. “Tristan. Lovely to see you again.” She wasn’t in the mood to fight with him, especially so close to the full moon. This wasn’t her territory anyway, not even her home, and even she had lines she wouldn’t cross.

For a moment she thought he was going to snap—there was a dangerous pulsing vein his neck—but while he grit his teeth and his nostrils flared, he pulled open the door wider and stepped to the side. Clarke watched him closely. He held her stare and said nothing. Slowly, with slight apprehension in steps, she came forward. She had almost thought she’d escaped a confrontation when his arm shot out and barred her from entering.

His arm came dangerously close to contact. It must have been deliberate, because it was without thinking that a growl broke out of her, but not a snarl. It seemed she was not the only one to know where to stay behind the line.

“Move your arm, Tristan.” Clarke warned with clenched teeth. He didn’t listen unfortunately.

“You think you can come here and act like you haven’t done what you’ve done?” he hissed under his breath, and Clarke’s brow furrowed.

“What are you talking about?”

“You exposed us to a human.” He spat. He leant closer and Clarke felt her lip curl up instinctually. “You endanger this pack and you endanger Heda, yet somehow you still stand here.”

Clarke shoved his arm out of her way. “Find a hobby, Tristan. I’m growing tired of your insults.”

But he only came closer, and Clarke saw his eyes holding a rage she hadn’t expected. There was mania that danced in the flames. “You’re a snake. Heda may have found interest in you but I see you for what you are. You will not be free of consequence for what you’ve done. You will regret exposing us, and I won’t let a runt like you destroy this pack.”

“Is that a threat?” Clarke muttered, her shoulders rising and coiling with tension. Tristan bared his teeth and that was answer enough. It was frightening and fascinating how quickly everything changed, the smell of the air like a spark in dry wood with Tristan letting out his own growl and shoulders drawing themselves up. They both snarled at each other with exposed teeth, Clarke’s foot already moving back and adjusting her stance when Tristan’s name was suddenly called out and they both froze.

Clarke was in enough that she could glance into the house, and because of that she saw the source of sound to be from Gustus. The bear of a man stood near the base of the stairs, his beard not able to obstruct the scowl on his face.

“You are needed elsewhere Tristan. Your brother is asking for you, upstairs.”

Clarke blinked at the sudden intervening. Especially that it seemed to be in her favour. Tristan must have felt the same because he glanced between her and him, confusion evident in his expression despite his still bared teeth. “Tell him to wait.”

Gustus narrowed his eyes at him. “I am not your errand boy.” He muttered low. “Go.”

For an entire second it seemed Tristan was genuinely considering defying him. But then he must have heard the unsaid threat in his voice, the fact that he was intimidating as hell and made Clarke nervous just being around him, because though it looked near painful Tristan actually stepped away. He eyed her and Clarke stared at him back. The tension in the air was enough to crush her lungs, but Tristan merely let out one last bitter scoff before turning away and walking for Gustus.

He paused a moment as he passed him. Clarke thought he was going to say something, but he just shook his head and muttered bitter words under his breath that even she couldn’t hear before disappearing up the stairs. Clarke’s gaze slowly slid to Gustus. He watched her closely a beat. And then, wordlessly, he grunted and went back upstairs.

Well. Nice to see that Tristan’s manners had remained the same.

There was a buzzing in her chest that felt like a swarm trapped beneath her ribs, but she merely clenched her shaking hands, digging her nails into palms and using the pain of it as an anchor to focus on. She waited until that primal anger faded, the one that always seemed to rise whenever someone challenged her.

“Prick,” Clarke murmured under her breath, well aware that a mutter any louder and Tristan would probably hear. Her fists slowly uncurled again, and with a sigh and rising of her chin she did her best to forget about Tristan and walked forward into the house. She hoped the rest of today wasn’t going to be as terrible.

She drifted passed the living room, peeking in and seeing no one. At continuing further and finding Lexa wasn’t anywhere inside—and she wasn’t going to check up stairs, because that would mean confronting Tristan—so with a sigh she figured she’d try outside. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d find her out there.

Echo was in the kitchen as she moved through to get the outside door, and briefly Clarke found herself tensing as she walked past her, her shoulders tightening and gaze becoming sharp. She watched her carefully, but Echo didn’t show any signs of caring. Unlike Tristan, her eyes merely flicked over her before she went back to her phone. Clarke just felt relief.

She hadn’t really socialised beyond Lexa and possibly Lincoln of the pack. She should probably work on that, because depending on how long Lexa was going to be staying here and Tristan’s barely veiled threats against her, it’d be better have some allies on her side.

She internally scoffed at herself as she pushed open the backyard door.

Allies. What was this, war?

Maybe.

It was instinctive how her head immediately snapped up when she was outside, spotting Anya and Indra standing nearby on the grass, arguing with each other in hushed voices. They instantly shut up the moment she was out, their gazes jerking to her, and Clarke found a cold sensation coil in her gut at the looks she got. Her steps slowed until she came to stop, purposefully keeping herself close to the door. She didn’t really know what to expect now that everything was out in the open. Indra hadn’t even believed her at the start, and had tried to stop her when she wanted to leave. Anya hadn’t said anything. And honestly Clarke didn’t know enough about her to get a judge on her character.

They all stood staring at each other. Clarke could hear the rustle in the trees from the wind.

Clarke couldn’t read Indra’s face, but she was watching her carefully. Which meant that when she saw Indra’s eyes narrow and her jaw clench she was already tensing and drawing her foot back. Indra’s nostrils flared and she came forward only for Anya to suddenly grab her arm.

Indra’s head whirled back onto her, but before she could no doubt snap at her Anya was speaking up. “Don’t.” She muttered, holding Indra’s presumably terrifying stare. “It’s not worth it.”

Indra bared her teeth at her. “Worth it? Our _survival_ isn’t worth it?”

“Don’t be thick, Indra.” Anya snapped and Indra ripped her arm from her grip. Anya stepped closer to her anyway. “It isn’t your choice. _That’s_ what’s not worth it. You would throw away everything you’ve built for yourself to break an order not even decided?”

Clarke had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but it seemed to calm Indra somewhat. “We know what she will decide.” Indra said. Anya shook her head.

“No, we don’t. But we will wait until she does.” Anya’s eyes flicked between hers. “Understand?”

There was a heavy beat that had the hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck rising with the tension, but she watched with wonder as Indra suddenly loosed a long breath, and within the space of a heartbeat she looked older than her soul could carry. She gave her a slow nod. Anya returned it.

Anya’s gaze switched and met Clarke’s. Clarke didn’t know what it held, but for a moment she was confused at seeing something like such a pitied sadness. “Heda is down in the basement. She’s waiting for you.” Anya shot Indra one last glance—though Indra didn’t meet her gaze, her stare remaining on Clarke—before she merely sighed and came forward. “Come on, follow me.”

Clarke could feel Indra’s intense stare follow her as she trailed after Anya.

She waited until they were down into the basement before Clarke found the courage to speak up again. “What was that about?” she asked, and Anya didn’t look at her as she came forward and pulled the book down that acted as a lever.

“Nothing of your concern.” Anya answered. She still wasn’t looking at her.

Clarke thought she was lying.

But this felt like something she couldn’t press. Maybe Lexa would tell her, anyway.

Anya stepped back as the bookcase grunted, the rolling of gears echoing in the small space as it carefully slid to the side. She opened the door, and unlike how Clarke was expecting she didn’t walk through but finally turned around to meet her eyes. Anya sighed through her nose. Her shoulders fell.

“ _Ai moba yu krei yong_.” She murmured. And as if the words caused her physical pain she quickly scowled and strode off, moving past her in a blur and leaving Clarke staring after her with wide eyes.

She blinked, slowly playing the words back in her head.

She had no idea what they meant, but Anya’s voice was telling enough that whatever it was, it was not something light, and the chances were that if Clarke actually _did_ know the language then she would have definitely not said anything. It was strange the freedom you gained when you knew a language others didn’t.

Clarke shook her head and walked forward.

There was no one in the room. Her eyes seemed to seek out the ancient book instinctually, and unable to stop herself she carefully treaded over to it, finding that it was still open on the page from before. She let her fingers trace the handprint again. Felt the stirring within and was thankful that it wasn’t _on_ the full moon anymore—near, yes, but it had passed, and it meant that unlike before when she had felt the print she didn’t hear its voice.

When she had first traced the handprint, it had said brother.

It was daunting to understand just what lived inside of her. This was proof enough. Someone from literal _hundreds_ of years ago, and it hadn’t forgotten. She refused to think of it, as anything that even _grazed_ the topic of what she was she steered far, far clear from, but her curiosity wasn’t something so easily subdued.

Had Wanheda ever been given to someone that revelled in the blood thirst, rather than recoil? Just how far back did the bodies go to lead her here? She didn’t know what had had to happen for Wanheda by chance to just to jump out at that time, that moment, for it to slam into the car right as they were driving from a party Clarke had only begrudgingly agreed to stay later for. How many had been killed for it? Was she the only accident in this, the anomaly?

“You’re early,” Lexa commented quietly, but Clarke was so engrossed in her thoughts she jumped.

She looked up and saw Lexa standing in the doorway. But not the one that led back outside, but the heavy metal door that Clarke had never seen the inside of. Clarke stepped away from the book as if Lexa hadn’t caught her staring at it.

“It’s Sunday, the store was basically dead. Well’s let me off early. Had nothing better to do, figured I’d come here and get my ass handed to me.”

Clarke was surprised to see Lexa not give her the usual half-smile she normally got at her humour, the type of smile that she always tried to stop but spread anyway. Instead Lexa seemed to draw into herself further, her stoic mask becoming so solid when Clarke had been growing used to its softening.

She was about to ask if something was wrong, because she could _feel_ it in her stomach, the uncomfortable knotting that only seemed to come before things went south—but Lexa was moving, her hands adjusting to be held behind her.

“We will train in here today.”

Clarke frowned. “Not outside?”

Lexa almost seemed to roll her eyes at Clarke’s immediate questioning. Instead she huffed. “No, not outside. Follow me.” She didn’t give her time before she was already slipping back into the room behind the metal door. Clarke realised she must have been there the entire time.

There was something different about her. Clarke didn’t trust it. She thought of Indra’s reaction from before, how Anya had had to grab her and calm her down. Something had happened, something had changed between now and the last time she’d been here. Clarke wasn’t naïve enough to think that everything would remain the same after the bombshell of a reveal before, but this felt _different_ , this was something else.

The knots twisted tighter in her stomach, but with apprehensive steps Clarke followed after Lexa.

The room was bigger than she’d thought it’d be, and far emptier. In fact, it was pretty much completely bare. It was just thick, grey stone walls. The only decoration being the claw marks that Clarke found when she drifted over to the one of the walls, tracing her fingertips over the white scars in the stone. It was colder in here too; enough that goose bumps ran up on her bare arms. She regretted wearing a tee shirt. Though in her defence, she was expecting the warmth of outside.

Clarke looked up with a frown. Her gaze found Lexa standing in the middle of the empty room, her face a little too similar to the cold stone around them. “What is this place?” Clarke asked.

Lexa’s back was stiff. Clarke watched her shift, seeming to rally herself for something. “The door can only be opened from the outside when closed.” She answered, though Clarke didn’t really think it was an answer. Lexa’s eyes drifted from Clarke’s to the tightly packed claw marks in the wall. “Nothing gets in. Nothing gets out.”

Clarke glanced to the claw marks again. When she glanced back to Lexa, she felt her gut twist once more. “A cage,” she murmured in realisation. Lexa gave her a small nod.

“It can be.”

They stared at each other before Lexa tore her gaze off and moved away. Clarke drifted after her without really thinking, and she watched with a frown as Lexa set her hands against the metal door and grunted, pushing it forward until it was swung completely open. A muscle eased in the back of Clarke’s neck.

Briefly Clarke had had the paranoid thought that Lexa was going to lock her in here for some reason. But it seemed that, whatever had changed, it didn’t involve trapping her in the basement. Clarke came forward as Lexa stepped back now that the doorway was clear, slowly turning around to meet Clarke’s gaze.

Lexa swallowed, but before she could say anything Clarke was already talking. “What’s that language you guys speak with each other?” she asked, unable to bite the question off any longer. Lexa blinked at her, the question probably coming out of nowhere for her. Clarke felt a little sheepish then and cleared her throat. “I only ask because Anya said something to me in it. Probably was an insult. But it’d be nice to know what she’s actually insulting me with.”

Lexa’s jaw opened and closed, such a heavy hesitation across her features that Clarke’s brow couldn’t help but crease.

It was infuriating her that she couldn’t figure out what had changed.

But eventually, Lexa fell back into the teacher’s role. “We call it Trigedasleng.” She started, and for the first time since Clarke been down here with her she saw the slightest easing to Lexa’s shoulders. “It is language that was made in survival, but has lived long past its original usage.”

“What did it used to be?”

Lexa released a sigh. “Centuries ago we were discovered. Not on a global scale, but werewolves were far more known and believed in. There was a period where many of us were killed, humans banding together and forming hunting groups dedicated to slay werewolves. We were losing families, packs, friends…” she paused, and Clarke thought it was to control the grief at the blood lost and shed. Eventually Lexa seemed to just shake her head at herself. “Trigedasleng was a language made so we could communicate without the hunters understanding. Safe places, safe towns, movements. It was born out of necessity, and even if now hunters are rarer and harder to find, the language remains. It is our history.”

“Shit,” Clarke breathed, not expecting something so serious. There was a foreign anger at knowing so many of their kind had been killed but Clarke shoved the feeling deep, deep down. “Will you teach me it?”

Lexa blinked. “Sorry?”

Clarke’s frown came back. “The language. Trig… sleng or whatever. You’ve been teaching me to fight because it’s important to us, right? This sounds important too.”

Clarke didn’t understand when Lexa’s previously stoic mask seemed to crack then, and there was such a sadness that leaked through. It jolted Clarke, because it was the exact same sadness she’d seen on Anya, heard it in her words and her voice.

When Lexa still didn’t answer Clarke took a step forward. “Anya said something to me, in that language.”

“What did she say?” Lexa asked, but there was a faint tinge of panic to her voice now.

Clarke tried to recall the exact phrasing of what she had heard, trying to piece together the alien sounds of the language. “Something like… _ai mobo yu kei young._ ”

“ _Ai moba yu krei yong_?” Lexa asked with a frown and Clarke clicked her fingers.

“Yeah, that. She didn’t like insult my mother or something did she?”

She thought the attempt at levity would do something—normally it would—but something had changed and it was obvious in the way Lexa seemed to recoil, and instead she pulled in a sharp breath and glanced away. Clarke heard her shaky sigh, and it had something cold and uncomfortable creeping up her spine.

“Lexa,” Clarke tried a step forward only to retreat back, as if there were invisible walls between them that she kept running into. “What does it mean? What did she say?”

She saw Lexa’s hand curl into a fist, then slowly unravel. “Nothing.” She eventually said. She brought her stare back and cleared her throat, and like that her features were back to unreadable. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It feels like it does,” Clarke muttered, but Lexa just sighed again.

“She likes to make my life difficult. You don’t need to encourage her.”

Clarke watched her closely. Lexa held her stare, tilted her chin as if daring her to question her further, and Clarke didn’t know how to bridge that sudden gap between them. It felt like Lexa was pulling further and further away, and Clarke was tripping over her feet to catch up.

The silence was heavy and had Clarke clenching and unclenching her hands uselessly. She felt restless and off-balance, something she’d honestly never felt in Lexa’s presence before, and it was doing her head in. It took far too long until Lexa seemed to take notice and brought her hands behind her. She straightened her back, her features the same stoic mask, and Clarke was already feeling that dread cement further up her throat.

“There is something you need to know.” Lexa opened with, and Clarke had never heard her voice so detached and cool before when it was just them alone. It was the type of thing you didn’t notice was there until it left. Lexa’s voice had always had this unintentional soft quality, it was a delicate thing that effortlessly slipped through the bars of her ribs and settled in her chest, and now that it was suddenly gone Clarke felt a coldness where there should have been warmth.

“I’m not going to like it, am I?” Clarke murmured low. She saw Lexa shoulders rise a little higher, her chin tilting.

“This town, as you’d know, used to be thought to be with nothing but humans.” She ignored Clarke’s question, though really that was an answer in itself. “Do you remember what I told you about Cage?”

Clarke’s brow twitched as she heard the name. It rung a bell somewhere, and she remembered him as the man that Lexa had told her of back when she had first introduced her to the pack. “Yeah, crazy guy who experimented on our own.”

Lexa gave her a small nod. “He has been hiding in his territory for years now. He is… difficult to reach when he is cemented in his territory. I have been after him for a very long time. So when I caught word that he had left and was on the move, I made no hesitation in following after him.”

She could feel something crawling up her neck, an unease and slow realisation of where this conversation was preparing itself to lead.

Lexa swallowed. “I came here for him. My trackers told me that Cage appeared here, and didn’t leave. I was confused of why, because he risks everything by coming here. When I moved here I was sure he would run. But he hasn’t.” She took in a breath, and it was steadying. “I know now why he’s here. He’s here for you.”

The proclamation felt like a blow, even if some part of her had been piecing it together as Lexa spoke. A shaky exhale slipped out from her and Clarke stepped back. “Why me?” she asked quiet, because the amount of buzzing in her ears made it impossible to be anything loud.

“Because of what you are.” Lexa’s eyes were heavy. “You hold a lot of power Clarke, and the only way to get it, is if he kills you.”

“So… you’re saying that someone is trying to kill me.” Clarke almost laughed, but all that came out was a sigh. A bitter scoff escaped under her breath. “That’s just lovely.” She muttered.

Lexa seemed to building herself for something. Clarke figured that this was the thing that had Lexa acting so strange, but even after the admittance, that wall between them remained. “You’re a danger, Clarke.”

Clarke paused. She narrowed her eyes, took a moment to look Lexa over again. But she was sharper this time, more analysing, and saw the tension that was gripping her frame and how it was clear she was tightly grasping her hands from behind her back. She had no doubt that it must have been white-knuckled.

 _A_ danger. Not _in_ danger.

“Lexa…”

She wasn’t sure what else she was going to say, but Lexa, as she always seemed to, heard what wasn’t voiced. Something solidified in her gaze, and after watching her throat bob Clarke saw Lexa reach behind her and reveal a wicked looking dagger.

Clarke immediately back paddled, raising her hands as her eyes blew wide. “Woah hey, where the hell did that come from?” Clarke snapped. She could feel her heart abruptly spike up in her chest, and it only worsened when she took a moment to eye the blade carefully; the perfectly sharp edge, the pale shine of the knife. She blinked a few times. “Is that _silver_?”

Lexa twirled the blade in her hand before she adjusted her stance, and Clarke came to sudden realisation that this was going to end very, very badly. “We are out of time, Clarke.” She stated, her voice and features hardening, becoming something so like steel that for a moment Clarke found it difficult to recognise her. “It can no longer be put off. You will turn.”

Clarke felt a wave of unease overwhelm her. “What?” she breathed. “What are you talking about?”

“Turn. Right now. Take your time if you must, but you are not leaving this room until you do.”

Lexa’s voice was firm and hard. Of course, Clarke’s immediate reaction was the anger flaring up in her. She scoffed at her, and her voice was sharp enough to rival the dagger in Lexa’s hand. “Or what, Lexa? I told you. I won’t turn.” She watched as Lexa clenched her jaw, but Clarke didn’t let it falter her. She raised her chin. “You going to kill me?”

There was a pause long enough where Clarke had the fleeting realisation that Lexa might actually not call her bluff, but eventually she ground her teeth, though shook her head. “No. But you will not leave here until you turn.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “You left the door open.” She murmured low, half a question and half a statement. Lexa merely ticked a brow.

“If you believe you can overpower me and walk free of here, then do so. You are far too easy a target for Cage. If you’d like to prove me wrong then be my guest.”

Clarke ground her teeth. “I’m not turning. You will be standing there all day.”

Lexa didn’t look the least bit bothered. “Then all day it shall be.”

They held intense stares, Clarke waiting to see if Lexa was bluffing or not. She didn’t think she was, because Lexa never seemed the type of someone to half ass things; the hard, proud stance, flexing of fingers around the dagger hilt proof enough of that. The freedom behind Lexa was an illusion, Clarke knew that. The door might be open but Clarke had only, what, barely a few weeks training compared with her? And _Lexa_ had been the one teaching her. The idea of overpowering Lexa was about as believable as pigs flying.

Clarke’s nostrils flared and she stepped forward, trying to tame the fury she could feel welling up within her, but more than that something worse, something darker; something that resembled hurt a little too much. Lexa didn’t look at all intimidated from the storm coming. She merely held her stance, expectantly waiting on her.

Clarke lasted about five minutes before she caved. She paced in the small space, eyes flicking about in search of exits she knew not to be there, desperately trying to work out some way out of this that _didn’t_ involve her doing the thing she hated with just about every fibre of her being. She wouldn’t turn. She refused to. Three times a month was enough.

But her patience ran and she lunged forward. She pulled back right before she would have made contact, their faces now hovering just inches from each other. Lexa hadn’t torn her gaze off the entire encounter, and so close Clarke hated how effortlessly gorgeous Lexa’s eyes were, the way they shone and they glimmered, a quiet glitter of the noonday sun across a lake.

“You say Cage is here for me. That he’s been hiding here for weeks.” Clarke thought it an impressive achievement on the firmness of her voice, because frankly being this close to Lexa was tearing at her in more ways than one. She held onto the anger that was steadily burning brighter, used to it to keep her eyes up. “If he came here to kill me, as I’m such a threat, why aren’t I already dead?”

Lexa’s jaw jutted to the side, and Clarke knew that this was not a question that Lexa was so sure on. “He is still looking for you.”

“You found me after one day. You honestly believe someone so hellbent on killing me, _actively_ looking for me, wouldn’t be as fast, if not faster?”

“That doesn’t change the danger you are.” Lexa retorted, her voice sharp. The smarter part of her wanted to reel back at hearing her voice like that when she was so close, but the bigger part of her—the one that was a breath away from snarling and baring her teeth—found her feet planted, eyes still searing into one another. Lexa’s eyes squinted. “Turn.” She ordered in a mutter.

Clarke stared at her for a long minute.

Then, slowly she leant in, to the point where their noses almost brushed each other.

“No.”

Clarke stepped back as she watched the anger and frustration ripple through her. Every muscle in her tensed, but when Clarke made a move to step around her Lexa’s hand came up. She didn’t shove her back like Clarke was expecting, but her hand stayed firm on Clarke’s chest, just enough pressure keeping her back to let her know it was a fine, fine line she treaded.

Lexa’s stoic mask didn’t falter when Clarke grasped her wrist and threw it off. When Clarke came forward again Lexa’s hand shot out once more, but this time she gave a firm push to send her back.

“Don’t make this difficult, Clarke.” Lexa warned, but Clarke only scoffed.

“What’s so difficult, Lexa?” She threw back. Lexa only grit her teeth, no answer coming from her. There was a weighted second before Clarke burst forward again, attempting to bypass her.

Lexa was like a viper though and easily anticipated the move, sidestepping her and snatching her when Clarke thought she’d made it, hauling her around and bringing the blade to her throat. Her arm was hooked under Clarke’s armpit, and she only held her a beat before she was suddenly shoving back into the room.

Clarke stumbled but quickly righted herself, blinking when she realised that Lexa had managed to hold the blade to her throat without letting any part of it touch her skin. They met stares again and Clarke bared her teeth.

It looked like Lexa was going to say something but Clarke was moving before she could.

Lexa made a move to grab her again but Clarke was waiting for it this time, she let her but the moment she was in her arms she brought her elbow down into her stomach. There was a grunt behind her and Clarke tried to use Lexa’s shock and surprise to break free of her grip.

But she was only free for a fleeting moment, heel digging into the cold floor as she lunged for open door before she felt something snatch around her waist and bodily throw her back. Clarke landed on her side and cursed, her head snapping up with a snarl on her lips as she watched Lexa take a slow step back, breathing sharply from the pain of Clarke’s cheap shot.

“There is no need for this.” She growled, and Clarke slowly brought herself back up to two feet. “Stop resisting yourself and _turn_.”

“Why the hell do you suddenly care if I can turn or not?” Clarke snarled, but her frustration only seemed to fuel Lexa’s.

“You think Cage will give you any chances?” Lexa hissed. Her lip pulled back. “You won’t last a second the way you are.”

A harsh snarl broke out of her at the insult, and Clarke wasn’t thinking when she came at her again.

It went much the same way. It was infuriating. Any time Clarke thought she had a chance of making it—the dim light of the next room coming within arms reach—she’d get pushed or thrown back, Lexa’s body a heavy and solid force that had years to be honed. Her growls were becoming more savage with each forcing back, and Clarke could tell it wasn’t only her that was mounting with their fury.

Lexa shoved her back again, hard enough that Clarke staggered and fought to keep herself from hitting the ground. She was panting with exposed teeth now, the dagger clutched so tightly in her hands Clarke could see her knuckles were white.

“You think I want this?” Lexa snapped, her eyes burning with something that Clarke couldn’t name. She let through a shuddered breath. “Why won’t you listen to me and just _turn_.”

“I told you from day _one_ that I refuse.” She was breathing heavy too now, the air between them so charged and suffocating it was like being trapped under electrified water. “The full moon is gone. You _saw_ me turn before. I’m not going through that voluntarily.”

Lexa scoffed. “You are being hunted and _this_ is the moment you decide to be stubborn?”

A growl erupted out of her throat and Clarke threw a punch at her, but Lexa counted it with ease, snatched her arm with speed that shouldn’t be possible and roughly pulled her forward. She spun her and wrenched her arm behind her back, Clarke biting back the wince at the harsh angle the position strained her joints. Her free hand jerked to Lexa’s wrist, desperately trying to pull away the knife that now hovered above her neck. Clarke instinctively recoiled, aiming her face away from the blade. She could practically _feel_ the silver radiating from it.

“Where do you think this ends, Clarke?” Lexa hissed in her ear. Clarke tried to buck in her grip again, but Lexa held her arm tighter. “Why do you refuse? What are you running from?”

“I run from nothing.” Clarke spat.

“You do. You run and you refuse to stop. You know the barest of how to defend yourself, nothing of what you are, and the only defence you hold you refuse to learn.”

Clarke’s throat tightened. She clenched her jaw hard enough it ached, Lexa’s breath hot on her ear.

“What will you do when you can run no more? What will you do when Cage finds you?”

Clarke’s breathing was coming fast. She didn’t give Lexa a verbal response, instead blindly jammed her foot back into Lexa’s knee. There was a cry that was probably more surprise than anything, but it was enough for Clarke break free. She managed just one shot at her, a hit to the chest, before Lexa was back. She blocked Clarke’s next punch and grabbed her wrists.

Clarke went with the momentum though and gripped hers as well, roughly pulling her in. Lexa was like water however and slipped out of her hold before Clarke could do anymore, a snarl on her lips as she came forward and shoved Clarke into the nearest wall.

“Turn,” Lexa panted, their faces close enough Clarke saw there wasn’t just anger there. It had her blinking, the sight so close, as Clarke saw the pain there. The brightness of her eyes.

It wasn’t enough though. Soon the fury was flooding back into her veins, energy sizzling in her fingertips. Clarke leant closer. “Fuck. You.”

And she saw it, she saw the hurt the rippled in that green. Clarke didn’t think it was something she was meant to see, but she caught it anyway. She saw the way Lexa paused briefly, the shallowness of her breath; but it was quick to be cut off with her features shuttering closed. Clarke pretended it didn’t make her heart ache.

They fell back into the same pattern. Clarke broke free of her and made another go for the door, Lexa got to her beforehand and demolished any hopes of escaping. Even if she knew that this was probably Lexa’s plan all along, Clarke could still her frustration bubbling up, her wolf rising closer and closer to the surface. Her growls were becoming too animal, her movements too wild. There was less care in her struggle and it was becoming more a match of just _hitting_ something. She became so engulfed it, desperate in her attempt to get out, that when she blocked a hit and was afforded the chance to grasp Lexa’s forearm, she didn’t think as she went with the momentum of the swing and aimed it for Lexa.

But Lexa was quicker and jerked away from the blade’s trajectory. Instead it skimmed her stomach, Lexa lurching back with the hiss. Clarke realised she had been right in suspecting the dagger as silver as even though it was light it was enough to leave a red scar. There was a cut in Lexa’s shirt now, and Clarke could see the small well of blood from the shallow slice.

Clarke back paddled so quickly and abruptly her back just about slammed into the wall. It hurt but the pain was distant, and all her focus was on the cut. She made the mistake of breathing in—some lame attempt to calm herself down—and she could taste the copper of it on her tongue.

She remembered the last time she tasted blood. She would never forget it. She remembered it all, the pain of it, of the shift, of the panic and fear. Of breaking through the house. Tearing at the doors. She remembered Finn running down the stairs and her chasing after him, when he jumped over she just dove through the bannister after.

“Clarke?”

Clarke blinked at the sound of her name. It sounded muffled and faraway. “I-I can’t…” she saw Lexa standing a few metres away from her, her brow furrowed as she watched her. Her eyes drifted to the cut again. It looked far from life threatening. But Clarke was struggling more and more to breathe, and she could feel her wolf taking her panic like an incentive.

The stab of pain at her chest was so unexpected she cried out and dropped to the floor.

The room was too small. She could still smell it. She’d never fucking hated her heightened senses so much until now. Clarke hastily pulled herself to her feet but she reeled at realising that Lexa was closer now, had drawn towards her in the flurry of her panic.

“Don’t fight it,” Lexa said, her soft voice a contradiction to the harsh hissing from before. “Please just, _please_ just turn.”

Clarke frowned at her. She didn’t think she had ever heard Lexa say please before. There was such desperation in her eyes it was overwhelming and confusing; she didn’t know what had to call for something so severe.

But she was still too close. Clarke backed away, but it did nothing. The scent was so fresh and it was _right there_ and she couldn’t think. Not when she saw Finn’s body and his house and just _him_. The panic was too intense, it felt like there were weights piling on her chest, and the more she felt it spiral the more she felt her wolf rise. There was a buzzing in her ears that was drowning everything out.

She made a blind lunge for Lexa, desperate to get out now, but Lexa seemed to be anticipating it and dodged her. They only traded another few blows until Lexa forced her back again and the anger and panic flared too fast. Another burst of pain came at her stomach, but it spread into her chest like something was trying to crawl its way out of her by pulling apart her ribs.

She knew it was over.

Clarke staggered back, her stare finally coming back to reach Lexa’s eyes. Clarke was panting heavy, half leaning into the wall now, a sudden jolt down her spine making her curse. She could see Lexa realise she had won, but she didn’t look like a winner. There was no satisfaction or smugness. When Clarke’s foot slipped at another slam of pain, she only saw an echoed pain in Lexa’s eyes. Like in some way, it hurt her too.

The room still smelt too much like blood. Too much like his. There was too much rage in her, too much frustration that been built up far too high. When it crumbled it was loud and thundering and Clarke knew it was over.

One last shaky exhale escaped her strained chest, and then Clarke’s eyes rolled back and everything blessedly stopped.

-

It was as ruthless and vicious as last time.

From the moment Clarke’s eyes were rolling back it was like a switch had been flicked, and Lexa staggered backwards as Clarke collapsed to the ground, as her body jerked and writhed and grew in quick bursts. It happened so fast that her screams cut off midway, sputtering into deeper, more animal growls, and Lexa was both awed and cringing by its ferocity. It looked agonising.

Her chest was aching with the furious slam of her heart as she watched the last of the transformation taper off, Clarke’s previous clothes now just shredded remains on the cold floor. She remained hunched over on all fours, breathing heavily with her eyes shut, and Lexa was suddenly hit with question of whether it hurt for Wanheda too.

When she had last seen Clarke turn—just four or five nights ago—she hadn’t had much time to marvel. After Clarke had shifted it wasn’t long after that Lexa was forced to bend to the moon’s force as well, and while she was still present as her wolf, her mind wasn’t as sharp and able to appreciate. And it hadn’t been long anyway till Raven was yelling at her to get out, her following soon after.

She was terrifying, Lexa remembered that. She felt that same burst of sheer primal fear as Clarke’s head slowly lifted now, eyes peeling open. The burning yellow was the same. Her lip began to pull back, exposing rows of teeth that could easily crush bones, a growl rumbling in her throat that only seemed to grow louder and louder which each passing second.

Lexa released a shaky breath, her eyes wide as Clarke—though was it still technically Clarke?—started to walk for her. And it was true after all, she _did_ look like the stuff of the nightmares, definitely something you would only ever willingly face against if death weren’t so terrifying a thing for you; but at the same time, Lexa marvelled at the coat of her fur and the grace in her steps.

She was terrifying, and she was absolutely beautiful.

Lexa wasn’t given long to admire. It seemed long ingrained instinct was enough to kick her back into function when she saw Clarke’s ears go flat against her head, a savage snarl breaking out at her. She saw the bending of Clarke’s legs just in time for muscle memory to save her and have her suddenly diving forward as Clarke pounced. Lexa rolled under her and burst up to her feet, hastily spinning around and flicking out her dagger. Clarke’s head snapped around with a feral growl at the dodge.

“Please,” Lexa breathed, her chest rising fast and adrenaline making her fingers feel numb. Clarke lowered her head and snapped her jaws at her. “Prove it. Just prove it. Prove you can learn control.”

There was a burning behind Lexa’s eyes that she refused to admit existed. A part of her hated herself, for the person she had come to be, and the other merely took her practicality in face of emotional turmoil with a resigned shake of the head. She needed to know if this was a lost cause or not. Lexa would have much, _much_ preferred to wait and to give Clarke the time she so desperately needed—but she couldn’t, and it hurt that she couldn’t.

Lexa had a theory, and if she was right, it meant that she might be able to spare Clarke. It could give her the grounds of keeping her alive while making it not seem as if she was willingly endangering her people for her own gain. Anya must have realised it too because she was the one who’d told her, reminded her that Clarke had already submitted to her without much hesitation. There were many things it could mean. There was only one that made the most logical sense.

Clarke was moving again. She was stalking towards her, her pace gradually picking up the closer she got. A roar erupted out of her throat that, were Lexa any other, she’d have probably run for the hills.

But Lexa merely tightened her grip on her knife. She adjusted her stance and she clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to do it. But if it was necessary, she would. She had done it before. She could do it again. She could. She _had_ to.

She didn’t want to.

Clarke let out another snarl and she was just a lunge away from her now. Lexa felt her stomach drop right down to the centre of the earth and her heart fall through the hole.

“I’m sorry Clarke.” She whispered right as Clarke made the last of the distance to her, and Lexa bared her own teeth and swung her dagger up in the arch she knew would settle into her throat. The blade was silver. She wouldn’t survive it.

Lexa had instinctively shut her eyes in preparation for the spray of blood, but they quickly snapped open at feeling no such thing. She blinked as she took in Clarke’s muzzle that hung inches from her nose, those yellow eyes staring directly at her. Her teeth were still bared. Lexa could see the wet red of her gums.

She pressed the blade tight under Clarke’s neck.

Clarke’s puffs of air from her nose were close enough that Lexa could feel it on her face. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, feel the messy pulse in her hands, and Lexa stood there with her back straight and eyes defiant as they stared at each other, her dagger so tightly against Clarke’s throat that it rose and fell with her breathing.

Clarke’s growl slowly died off. A silence fell between them, spare from both of their laboured pants, as the snarl slowly removed itself and Clarke’s face relaxed. Lexa couldn’t help but frown, as honestly she had been so sure that she was going to be forced to kill her. But Clarke was just standing there. Watching her, yellow eyes flicking between Lexa’s.

It was utterly breathtaking, but Lexa watched with quiet awe as all traces of that aggressiveness faded, and in complete contradiction to everything that Wanheda was and had ever been; the animal stare became soft and curious. Lexa wasn’t entirely sure if she had actually indeed died and this was some tortured sequence the higher powers were putting her through for killing someone that had never once deserved what was forced on her.

Lexa had been growing oddly used to the stillness so when Clarke’s snout slowly started to move forward she stiffened and held the knife up higher. Clarke’s lip curled up ever so slightly at that, and it felt like a silent warning or chiding of some sort, but when Lexa pushed harder but didn’t cut, her features relaxed again. She lowered her head and when Lexa felt the sudden timid pressing of a wet nose at her neck she sucked in a sharp breath.

She waited for her to bite her throat. But like the lunge she had been expecting before, it never came. She just felt it nudge closer, almost nuzzle, Lexa feeling the puff of air at her neck with breathing in. It reminded her a little too vividly of what Clarke had done those days ago in their training.

The nose at her neck drifted upwards, moving towards the middle, and though Clarke’s head now lay beneath Lexa’s line of sight she could _feel_ it as she slowly opened her jaw wide. Lexa had to physically stop herself from making any sudden movements when she felt those teeth that had been lingering just inches from face before now settle around throat. But they were gentle; there was such an incomprehensible delicate care as they pressed down the slightest.

Lexa dug the knife in deeper in silent warning. If she bit down, she was taking her with her. It felt much like toeing a tightrope over bottomless ravines knowing that a flimsy bit of rope was the only saviour between her and oblivion. She could feel Clarke’s hot breath on her neck. The teeth closed around her a little tighter.

But then she was pulling away. Slowly, carefully, and when she had leant back out enough that her jaw wasn’t snared around her throat anymore, Lexa was floored to feel Clarke give one tiny nip at her collar bone before shuffling backwards. As Clarke moved back Lexa’s dagger finally left its spot at her throat, and Lexa chanced a quick glance at the blade to see that there was a thin streak of blood lining the edge. She looked at Clarke’s neck and found a tiny strip of damp fur, the red sticking out starkly against the otherwise blond coat.

There was something more satisfied in Clarke’s gaze now. It made Lexa abruptly realise, with both dread and relief that her theory had been correct. She finally released the breath she’d been holding the entire encounter of Clarke having her teeth wrapped around her throat.

Lexa lowered the dagger as she stared at her. And despite everything, the relief that she wouldn’t have to kill her had a breathless laugh escaping her, entirely unbidden and impossible to tame. At the sound Clarke’s ears twitched, and she tilted her head.

“You did it,” Lexa revered quietly. The smile that spread on her lips was full of enough warmth to create a new day. “You did it.”

Clarke was still staring at her, so swallowing heavily Lexa raised her free hand. She kept the pace slow, so Clarke wouldn’t feel threatened, but those yellow eyes didn’t even flick off of her. Carefully, with enough apprehension that her chest felt like it was caving in her, Lexa reached out and let her hand graze Clarke’s fur. At getting no resistance, she tempted fate further and gently stroked the top of Clarke’s head, running her fingers in the thick fur that was so oddly soft, adjusting so she could scratch her ear. Clarke’s head tilted when she did that, and Lexa had never thought that something that was thought to be the deadliest of killers could come across as so soft.

It was perfectly mesmerising. Lexa never wanted the impossible moment to end. She watched with wordless wonder as Clarke allowed her to run her fingers through her fur, and Clarke’s eyes never once shifted from her. The stare should have probably been intimidating, but Lexa found no malice in it, and somehow a quiet trust had been established between them—in Lexa pressing the knife into her throat and Clarke holding her neck with her teeth—that for now, at least, there was no violence to come.

She could use this. Indra’s biggest fear was Clarke’s vulnerability and her lack of control. If Clarke could fully learn control, then she wouldn’t be vulnerable. This proved that it was possible. Clarke had turned and hadn’t killed her. Restraint, and hence control, was a possibility.

But Lexa should have known that good moments rarely last long.

It was broken with a parade of feet.

“Lexa, you are not going to _believe_ what I’ve just—“ Lexa’s head snapped around at the sound of Anya’s voice. Anya had walked into the room but abruptly pulled up short, her eyes widening as her jaw dropped. “Holy shit,” she breathed and was promptly followed by Clarke’s snarl.

Lexa lurched backwards and whirled onto Clarke to see nothing of that peace from before. Her lip was curling up again and it was with a muttered apology and gritted teeth, but Lexa held her breath as she raised her dagger and sliced at her leg. It was shallow and more superficial than anything, but it was enough to shock and stun her enough that Lexa could bolt and snatch Anya’s arm.

“Back!” she hissed when Anya lingered, gaping as she stared at Clarke, though probably more accurately Wanheda. Clarke’s head snapped up and she let out a deafening roar, rushing at them in heavy thuds that had Lexa already flinching at the idea of that amount of weight colliding into them.

But Lexa made it back outside, and shoving Anya away she hastily grabbed the steel door and slammed it shut just as Clarke lunged at them.

There was a heavy _bang_ and the door jolted violently. Lexa held onto the hatch with white knuckles, panting as she felt the sudden burst of adrenaline rush begin to abate. She heard another snarl from inside and the door burst forward again. Lexa held it tight, and when the next slam she had been expecting didn’t come, her shoulders slumped and her forehead fell into the door.

Lexa released a heavy sigh. “I’m going to kill you, Anya.”

“Holy shit, holy _shit_ ,” Lexa turned around, though she kept one hand on the handle at Anya’s exclamations. She couldn’t quite make out Anya’s expression as it seemed to be a mess of contradictions, there was disbelief and there was awe, a fear beating underneath. Anya’s wide gaze met Lexa’s. “You really weren’t lying,” she breathed, and Lexa narrowed her eyes.

“You thought I was lying?” She muttered low.

Anya of course rolled her eyes at her sharp tone. “I believed you about, eighty precent.” A breathy chuckle escaped her. “But… shit, you really weren’t fucking around were you?”

“Anya, I explicitly stated that I was only to be interrupted in case of dire circumstance, so unless someone is quite literally dying right now, this will be your last day breathing.”

Anya still looked like she was reeling from what she’d seen because she didn’t even react to the threat, instead waving a hand. “Sorry, but you’ll shut up the second you hear this.”

Lexa ground her teeth, glancing between Anya and the door she still held onto with a death grip. “Anya, I swear to god, if you don’t give me _one_ reason not to kill you right fucking now—“

“I know why we keep losing Cage’s scent.” Anya cut off. Lexa fell silent.

“You what?” she repeated, her brow furrowing.

Anya smirked at her. With a showman’s grin, she revealed a black jacket in her hand; something that Lexa hadn’t noticed having been too caught up with whole the near death experience thing. “This.” Anya proudly stated, walking over to the desk—eyeing the hole with only a quick glance—and slamming it down on it. “We’ve been finding bits and pieces Cage’s scent. We know he’s here, he’s scattered in pieces, but any trail always gets swallowed up.”

“It’s a human’s only town,” Lexa said, though she supposed that wasn’t quite true anymore. “He’s lucky. We lose his scent for humans.”

But Anya just waved a finger. “That’s where we’ve been wrong. This jacket? Its infused with two scents. Cage’s, and a human’s.”

Lexa’s eyes blew wide. The rush of excitement was like euphoria as she suddenly came forward and grabbed the jacket, breathing in deep at the scent. At smelling what Anya had no doubt picked up on, her eyes snapped up to meet Anya’s grin.

“He’s not just being smart and using this human population to his advantage. He’s actively working _with_ a human. He’s using their clothes, and consequently their scent, to mask his own.”

“How do we know he’s working with them and not just stealing whatever he can find?” Lexa questioned, but her mind was already whirring with the possibilities. If indeed _a_ human was conspiring with him, then, theoretically, all they’d need to do is track the human to find him. And here they already had the scent of the human.

Anya shook her head. She seemed just as excited with this information as her. “It’s been months, Lexa. To hide himself so completely and regularly… he has to have a regular supply. Just one instance wearing and his scent will seep through. It has to be regularly cleaned, and since the authorities are out looking for him, I _highly_ doubt he has the luck to be using the dry cleaners daily without being spotted once. Plus he _needs_ a human’s scent. He could only steal for so long.” Anya’s grin turned more lethal. “We’ve got him.”

“Where did you find this?” Lexa asked, her heart racing. She ran her fingertips over the jacket, frowning slightly when she found a patch of red, but it didn’t look like blood.

“Thrown into a bin near an abandoned building. It was with a bunch of empty spray paint bottles.” Anya answered. Lexa looked up and raised a brow at her. “There was this, red orb thing, spray painted on one of the walls in the building. I think it’s his.”

Lexa blinked. “You think he was spray painting?”

Anya shrugged. “Maybe. Who knows what goes on in that fucked head of his.”

Lexa couldn’t help but agree to that. Whatever motives for his apparent affinity for graffiti, there were more pressing issues at hand. For a moment she paused and let the information sink in. If a human was helping him, they had to find the human. Could he have them under threat, or possibly even bribery? Cage wasn’t low on funds. His family had been filthy rich for generations, and with Dante dead, he was sole inheritor. Then again, he was a wanted criminal. But only for the last three years. He could have horded paper cash beforehand.

Her thinking didn’t last long for though, because Lexa noticed that the moment was quiet. Too quiet.

Anya seemed to have same thought. Their gazes meet each other’s at the same time. “Lexa,” Anya said slowly, eyes flicking over to the metal door. “You… I mean, you locked the door, right?”

Lexa felt her blood run cold. Her head whipped around and she was already scrambling for it, but at the same time the silence was destroyed with Clarke suddenly bulldozing through the heavy steel door. Lexa just barely lurched backwards in time to avoid being slammed into.

She stumbled back as Clarke didn’t even pause, releasing a victorious snarl and bolting through and out the room. She crashed into the other door and left nothing but a hole.

“Did you close the cellar doors?” Lexa snapped and Anya hastily shook her head. Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_. She was only still for a beat in her horror before her brain kicked into gear again, and as fast as she physically could she lunged for the bookcase in the corner of the room and dropped to her knees. She snatched the worn cardboard box at the very bottom shelf, grabbing the first pair of pants and shirt she found. It was their spare stash for turnings, as clothes were commonly destroyed when living in a house of werewolves. “Make sure no one goes after her.” Lexa ordered as she stood up and rushed for the door.

But Anya grabbed her arm. “Lexa, are you kidding? She’ll tear apart anything that fucking moves and you want to let her run free?” she hissed, but Lexa just bared her teeth and ripped her arm from her grip. She was already backpedalling for the door.

“She will kill you and any who go after her, I cannot—“

“Oh, and she won’t kill you?” Anya snapped.

Lexa remained quiet.

“Don’t let anyone come after me.” Lexa said, and when Anya’s eyes widened Lexa’s patience was done and she ran out the door. She ignored Anya’s protests from behind her, clutching the clothes in her hand desperately as she launched up the stairs and stumbled out into the open air. She jerked her head to the side and saw the faint image of Clarke as she bolted across the grass, disappearing into the forest that stood so close.

Forest. That was good. It would take longer to reach civilisation.

Lexa bolted.

There was a dangerous amount of fear blitzing through her as she ran, but Lexa moulded it into grit, in the energy needed to pump her lungs fast enough her thighs felt like someone had set them on fire. She sprinted through the grass and into the woods, honing in on Clarke’s scent and the heavy pounding of her paws. She was running with her all, that was for sure. Lexa didn’t know if it would be worth it to risk a moment to let _herself_ shift, so she could gain greater speed with four legs.

She took a sudden right, her shoes skidding against the leaves at the abrupt turn.

She couldn’t take a massacre. The girl being killed here was enough. And while a werewolf could _maybe_ be played off as perhaps just an unusually enormous wolf, Clarke’s appearance—Wanheda’s, really—was something far less conspicuous and enough to raise, dangerous, dangerous questions. If Clarke got into the town like this she had no doubt they were would be swimming in blood.

She felt any last traces of colour drain from her at the abrupt silence she found. Quiet was never good. Lexa’s heart was in her throat and she was at the verge of throwing up with her fear, panting as she hurriedly swung her head in all directions, trying to find Clarke again. Her eyes snagged on a crushed looking bush. Clarke must have run through it.

Lexa took off again. She leapt over it and was half-tempted to shout out Clarke’s name, damning the chance for her surprise appearance that was possibly the only thing that would give her an advantage if she caught up to Clarke too late. The dagger felt heavy in her hand. She was sure it was over, that her excitement and total desperation over her hunt for Cage would prove to be undoing, when she burst through the clump of trees and staggered into a clearing where what she found had her pulling herself to an immediate stop.

She wasn’t sure whether she was hallucinating or not as she stared. She blinked, taking in the sight of the sun as it shown so delicately into forest in a scene that had her chest tightening. The careful glow of the sun took Clarke in as she stood there, and Lexa watched breathless as with a slowness that only was only used to savour, Clarke stood up on her hinds. She rested her front paws against a tree, and tilted her head up. Her eyes closed.

She was taking in the feel of the sun.

It was only now that Lexa realised that it must have been years. Clarke had told her, warned her that Wanheda was an entirely separate thing. The repercussions of that Lexa was only just now starting to comprehend. Clarke might be able to go outside, to walk in the rain and the feel the spread of grass through her fingers; but Wanheda couldn’t. For so long it had seen nothing but the inside of a cage.

And here it was now, the sun such a gentle thing like it knew how precious this revelation was. Soon Clarke’s, the _wolf’s_ eyes carefully peaked open once more, and she dropped back onto all fours—but not without digging her claws into the bark first, leaving long, pale lines that was probably made for the feel and nothing else.

Lexa didn’t think wolves could smile, but maybe smiling wasn’t something that only humans could do. Maybe it could be in the way she moved with such a patient slowness. How once she was down, she didn’t even look to Lexa even though there was no way that she couldn’t _not_ know she was there, and instead she dug her claws into the dirt and pulled. The soil rose around her claws and she left thin but deep trails in the earth.

Lexa released a shuddered breath as she realised that Clarke was just revelling in the feel of the ground beneath her paws.

She let out a soft, star-struck sort of chuckle as Clarke suddenly fell onto her back. She rolled over the grass, a sound that Lexa could only describe as pleased grunts and whines as she did. It was as if she had been born in the stars and it was her first ever experience touching the ground. There was wonder and awe in every sense of the word. Lexa couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like, to see nothing but a cell for years and then suddenly be thrown out into the open air.

She pushed herself back up onto her paws. Her head finally lifted then, meeting Lexa’s gaze. Her lip pulled back suddenly, but no growl came out, it was a silent warning. Yet it faded quickly when Lexa raised her hands, revealing she held nothing but the pile of clothes and the dagger. Clarke eyed her a long moment. Lexa let her own eyes take her in, and she noticed now there was dirt in her fur.

“You need to shift back,” Lexa said quietly, and some of that softness faded. Clarke narrowed her eyes, taking a step back. But Lexa just sighed. “You escaped. You felt the sun, the dirt… you have what you wanted.”

Clarke growled at her, ears twitching flat against her head.

Lexa took a step forward. “Come on. I need her.” She swallowed thickly. “Not you.”

They stood in a standoff for a tense beat. Lexa couldn’t blame it, not really, after all if it was _her_ that was suddenly having the chance to revel in being free after so long of being trapped she would be reluctant too. But the stories told Wanheda of being more than just something that broke out with the rise of the moon. There was meant to be a connection, a relationship that tended to build whether intentioned or not between it and the host. It would be pretty difficult not to.

It seemed Lexa was not the only one with a soft spot for Clarke. Time stretched and Lexa’s hand clenched tighter her dagger, but she needn’t have bothered as soon the wolf was huffing and shaking her head with a growl. She pawed at the dirt, sending it flying up behind her, and with one last glance up into the sun—Clarke’s eyes briefly closed, and Lexa thought she didn’t deserve to witness such a reverent sight—she bowed her head, and came forward. She stopped a few paces from her, and when Lexa just frowned she let out another huff and leaned closer.

She was gentle as she grabbed the clothes in Lexa’s hand with her teeth. Lexa quickly let go when she understood what Clarke was doing. She stepped back, momentarily meeting eyes again, soon turning away and padding back into the trees. Lexa trailed after her, apprehensive that she was actually intending to bolt; there was nothing to fear though, because soon after Clarke disappeared behind a tree she heard the first telltale bone snap of shifting.

Lexa wiped the small traces of blood from her blade and slipped the dagger back into its sheath. The pained grunts and huffs she could hear were oddly painful for her, and she ignored the twisting in her gut as she helplessly stayed away from where Clarke was shifting behind. It didn’t seem as violent, without the screams, and when the animal sounds started becoming more human Lexa timidly approached. A deep, guttural grunt morphed into a human groan, and at no following snap she realised it was over.

She still waited. She strained her hearing, and while at first there was nothing but silence and just the harsh labour of Clarke’s breathing, she soon made out the rustling of clothes. It took few a minutes before it fell quiet again. Lexa still waited an extra beat, just in case, before she came forward and made sure to deliberately give her steps weight so they were heard.

She came around the tree and saw Clarke was clothed, thankfully. Her hair was loose and tousled, small flecks of dirt dotted throughout. The shirt she had grabbed gratefully seemed to be big enough, and it must have been a men’s because while it was a little awkwardly tight at the chest, it was big and baggy enough that it revealed little. The cuff of the pants sat just above her ankle.

Lexa couldn’t help but let loose her tiny relieved smile, but it was abruptly cut off when she came forward only for Clarke to immediately step back. Her smile fell, and when Clarke raised her head Lexa felt her heart grow cold at seeing the glimmer in Clarke’s eyes.

“Clarke,” Lexa tried softly, but Clarke shook her head and stepped back again.

“I trusted you.” She whispered. A wet laugh broke out of her, but it held no warmth and made Lexa’s soul cringe. “I told you. I _told_ you. I refuse to turn.”

“But you did it,” Lexa said, and she had to physically stop herself from approaching her. It was unsettling and terrifying, but Lexa realised that even from the first moment of meeting Clarke when she was a total stranger, the gap between them had never felt so big. “You shifted. You can learn control, it’s _possible_.”

But it seemed her words did nothing to soothe her. “You should be dead.” Clarke breathed, and her voice trembled enough that Lexa felt an ache in her chest.

“Clarke, I’m—“

“You should be _dead_.” Clarke snapped. She pulled her lip back, and Lexa had never noticed how similar it was to Wanheda’s snarl. “You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t have…”

Lexa took a tentative step forward. “I’m fine, Clarke. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t try to kill me.”

Clarke shook her head again, bit her lip hard enough that it should have bled. “You don’t get it, that’s what happens. It comes out and… you should be dead. Like him.” It was what did it, it seemed. Finally the tears that she had clearly been trying to hold back broke through. “God, I trusted you Lexa. I fucking…”

Lexa wanted to reach out, to say something, but instead she could only watch and feel her heart splinter her ribcage.

Clarke pushed out a shuddered breath. When she locked gazes with her, Lexa saw a fire she had only seen rare glimpses of. It was anger and it was hurt and really, it was entirely heartbreaking. She didn’t want to hurt her. She had never had the intention. But she had to do it, she had to _know_ , it was either that or kill her.

“Cage is a threat to us all. And you’re… you’re a threat too, Clarke. It had to be done.”

Clarke looked like she wanted to spit on her, but she merely stared at her.

Lexa could feel the heat spike behind her eyes, and she absolutely refused to let anything past a shine leak through. “You’re dangerous and you’re vulnerable, Wanheda is all you have, we don’t have _time_.”

“I wasn’t ready.” Clarke muttered. She took another step back. “I’m _not_ ready. Not… not when I can still hear him, see him…” her eyes suddenly screwed shut, and Lexa frowned.

“Who Clarke?” she asked quietly, but Clarke just shook her head.

“Why do you think I go to such lengths, Lexa? You think I lock myself because I enjoy it, that I want to? This _thing_ inside of me, you don’t know what its done. What it craves to do. I _have_ to. I have to lock myself up, and I had to leave and I had to become fucking nobody just to goddamn survive.” Clarke spat. Her lip curled higher. “Have you _ever_ stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, I refuse for a fucking reason. You don’t know me, Lexa, you don’t know what I’ve done. I killed him. I murdered him. I tore out his throat.” More tears fell from her eyes, and her voice cracked like a struggling bridge when the weight had finally grown too heavy. “I turned and I killed the man that I loved in cold blood.”

Lexa felt the air get robbed from her chest. She sucked in a sharp breath, flinched like the words were a physical blow. “Clarke…” she whispered, because she couldn’t even speak after such a thing. There was so much she wanted to say. There was so much she didn’t. The only thing she truly wanted was to wipe the utter anguish and pain from her face, but she had no idea how to do it. When Lexa tried to raise a hand to reach for her Clarke eyed it, but made no move.

Lexa slowly let it fall back to her side.

“Don’t follow me. I don’t care how scared you are for Cage. I’ll know if you do.” Her voice was stronger then. There was a hard glint in her eyes, something that Lexa had once found to be an incredibly enticing thing. Clarke blinked the tears away. “Just don’t, Lexa.” She muttered, and Lexa felt as if her heart had been forcibly ripped out of her chest and thrown to the ground at her feet. Clarke stared at her for another moment, and Lexa watched as the bloody organ throbbed on the forest floor, before she turned around and walked away.

Lexa stared after her.

She couldn’t let her get far though, until the words were jumping off in a suicide’s dive from her tongue. “Don’t be alone,” she called after her, and Clarke paused. She tilted her head back but didn’t look to her. Lexa knew, logically, that Clarke was really only metres away but it felt like she stood on an entirely different continent. “Please. You can’t be alone. If he finds you…”

It was stupid and reckless to let Clarke walk away, to allow her the very thing that everyone, including herself, was shouting at her from all sides on what not to do.

She saw Clarke clench her jaw. Her nod was miniscule, and with it Lexa felt the last of whatever tether that bound them unravel and fall useless. Clarke didn’t glance back as started moving again. Lexa just stood there, helplessly staring after her.

It was completely foolish to let her go.

But in terms of the heart, Lexa had always been a fool.

-

Clarke slid the apartment key into the lock without really feeling it in her fingers.

It was probably unnecessary considering the still ruptured state the door was in, but it was a familiar pattern; so she twisted the key and soon pushed the door open, quietly slipping through with a deafening static that ran in her head that almost had her tempted to bring her hands up to cover her ears. She closed the door and let her forehead fall against it. Her eyes fell shut.

“Shit,” she whispered. Her shoulders tensed and she wanted to slam her head against the door, but instead she just released a shaky breath, and when she glanced down she saw her hands were trembling. She curled them into fists in effort to stop it.

Clarke stepped away. She tried fruitlessly to get the chaos within her to settle, but just when she’d thought she had made any progress she looked up and saw the exact pair of eyes that were the cause of the turmoil to be staring right at her. She blinked as she realised her painting she’d done of Lexa’s eyes weeks ago had been moved. Now it was right in front of her.

Her stomach rolled but she couldn’t seem to look away—Lexa had always had that odd talent, it felt a lot like trying to watch the awe of an eclipse with bare eyes—and Clarke was only able to tear her gaze off when Raven suddenly came around the corner.

“Hey there you are,” Raven breathed, giving her a grin. “Heard you open the door but didn’t see you come in.”

Clarke said nothing, and Raven frowned as she took her in, probably taking notice of how quiet she was being. Raven glanced between her and the painting that Clarke kept shooting furtive looks at. Every time she looked at them she felt her gut twist further, but some masochist part of her was still unable to resist in bringing her sight back.

“Oh, yeah I moved it,” Raven said, waving a hand at the painting. “I know that you’re the artistic one in the family but, well, having a hole in the wall isn’t exactly the most enticing of décor. Figured I’d cover it up.”

Clarke wanted to rip it off. Tear it in half and stamp it into the ground, burn it up enough so she would choke on the smoke.

Instead she nodded.

“We’ve still got that vodka, right?” Clarke checked, and it seemed to be the complete opposite of whatever Raven was expecting her to say. Her brows furrowed deeper.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Raven answered, but her voice was cautious now and she was looking between her and the painting again, something sharper and more attentive in the looks. “Hey, are you—“

“Good.” Clarke cut off and she walked past her. She had one goal in mind, and that was to rid the mess of a hurricane trying to break out of her chest. At this point she wouldn’t even be surprised if she started coughing up water. She made a beeline for the kitchen and quickly set herself to searching the cupboards for the bottles, ignoring Raven’s questioning’s from behind her, feeling her frustration mount higher when she kept finding nothing.

Clarke stilled when she found it. She thought she would smile, but instead she just swallowed and grabbed them. There were two. Probably enough if she chugged them. Maybe. She knew they had wine somewhere too. She was going to get drunk, or at least die trying.

She stood up and held both bottles in a hand each at the neck. She tried to walk past Raven and head immediately for up the stairs, when Raven’s hand jumped out and snatched her elbow.

Clarke turned on her with a snarl and Raven hastily jumped back, but it seemed she had expected this, because she didn’t look scared but resigned.

“Clarke, stop. What are you doing?”

Clarke’s lip slowly came back down. She raised one of the vodka bottles. “Drinking.”

Raven threw a glare at her. “Seriously? Real fucking mature. How about you tell me _why_ you are. Never mind the fact that you can’t even get drunk.”

“It’s difficult.” Clarke muttered. “Not impossible.”

She attempted to turn around again but this time Raven came forward and snatched one of the bottles. She backpedalled before Clarke could it get back, Raven raising it above her head and waving a finger. When Clarke growled low Raven just stepped back.

“Huff and puff all you want. You aren’t getting shit until you explain yourself.”

Clarke’s grip tightened on the bottleneck. Her nostrils flared. “Give it back, Raven.”

Yet Raven just arched a brow. “Why do you want it so bad Clarke? Did something happen?”

Clarke thought of the crunch of bone and the complete blinding pain. Of collapsing to the cold stone floor, staring up at the person who she had been blindly throwing her faith in as if her trust wasn’t something that was always such a difficult thing to covet with her. She thought of Lexa’s face as Clarke turned her back and walked away, vulnerable and desperate like she’d never seen her.

“No. Nothing happened.” Clarke could feel her hands start shaking again. Her chest was getting tighter. “There was nothing. Give me it, Raven.”

Raven narrowed her eyes at her. They flicked Clarke up and down in a way that made her uncomfortable, before eventually snagging on something above Clarke’s head. “Is that dirt in your hair?” Raven asked, her voice quiet and shocked.

Clarke’s hand came up without thought, running her fingers through the knots. When she brought it back down she saw there were flecks of dirt in her palm. The room grew smaller. It felt like there was a black hole in her chest and it was bending and pulling everything toward it, making breathing something like trying to win a nation wide war with a single warrior.

The dirt. The outside. The _feeling_ , the thing she was trying so frantically to numb.

“Clarke, hey,” Raven suddenly came forward when Clarke’s breathing started to fall out of control. But in opposite to before Clarke backed away from her, unable to stop staring at the dirt flecks in her hand and the rattling deep down in her gut, a prisoner shaking their cage that had her wanting to throw up.

Clarke shook her head. “I felt it, I felt it Raven,” she breathed, the words coming out in desperate breaths. She felt like she was drowning. “Fuck, _fuck_ , I felt it, it was so strong. I didn’t—I didn’t even know it was possible, that it could…”

Raven quickly put the vodka down on the nearby table, and when Clarke felt her grab the one still in Clarke’s hand her fingers were limp as Raven took it away. She held Clarke’s shoulders and forced her to look at her. “Clarke hey, hey, you’re rambling. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I need you to breathe.”

But Clarke pushed her away, reeling back and tripping on thin air. “How could it be possible? It shouldn’t, it _shouldn’t_. It killed him. I felt it then, I feel it every day, but—but _this_ , how could it ever feel this? _Know_ this?”

“Clarke I don’t know what—“

A snarl ripped itself out of her throat and Clarke kicked a chair, sending it up and smashing into the wall in a parade of splinters. Raven cursed and ducked but Clarke could feel barely any relief from the action. Her hands were still shaking. They were still fucking shaking. It felt like there was an aggravated swarm bursting just under her ribs.

“It doesn’t get the right. It doesn’t get to feel that with all the shit it has fucking put me through. It’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair. It’s not _fair._ ” Clarke wasn’t even talking to Raven anymore. The words were coming out faster and faster and she couldn’t stop them. Her voice was rising but her eyes were burning now and she only just stopped herself from throwing her fist into the wall again.

“Hey!” Raven snapped and she planted herself in front of her. “ _Stop_ Clarke. Stop. Slow down. What are you talking about?”

Clarke was panting and she wasn’t sure when it started. Her throat was becoming more blocked by the second. “I felt it. I felt it like it was me.”

“Felt what? What are you talking about?”

She had been trying so desperately hard to keep it back, but her efforts were nothing in the face of the agony festering in her core. They were hot on her cheeks as Clarke felt the tears finally fall. “Happy,” she whispered, and her voice was a delicate, trembling thing. “Happy. Nothing else. Just happy.” A sob escaped her and she snarled at herself. Her eyes snared on the bottle and she hastily snatched it up, ripping the top off and taking a hard swig.

She instantly regretted it as it blitzed down her throat and she ended up coughing hard enough her chest hurt. But Clarke didn’t care. It was fucking nothing compared with the chaos inside.

“What do you mean happy?” Raven asked, and this time Clarke paused.

She blinked, glancing around the room and taking notice of the chair she’d kicked was now riddled in pieces. There was a dent in the wall.

“Clarke,” Raven took a few cautious steps forward. Clarke was still now but honestly she still felt like a bomb, and really Clarke didn’t really blame her for nerves. “Hey, what do you mean by happy?”

Clarke looked up to her. She took another drink and the bottle trembled. “I turned.” She murmured, and a laugh broke out of her but it was full of such bitter and scorn it hurt to know she was even capable of making such a sound. “I turned, she made me. Brought me down, chose a room. Fucking red carpet.”

Raven’s eyes went wide. “Wait, you turned? Today?”

Clarke just took another swig.

Raven’s stare was even more analysing now, frantically scanning her like she could understand through just sight alone. “But you’re… you’re not…”

“Covered in blood?”

Raven winced. “I wasn’t going to say that,” she said, and Clarke felt tears prick her eyes again. She thought of the sheer panic when she had swiped with the dagger at Lexa, and the metallic smell that had flared in her nostrils that had her stumbling back. She thought of Finn. His body. The feeling. The house. The taste.

Clarke jolted when Raven’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders again. Raven’s eyes were wide and soft, despite the retrained panic in them Clarke could sense. “Clarke, how did you turn? The full moon was days ago.”

Clarke scoffed. “It doesn’t fucking matter. Nothing does.”

Raven let through a frustrated breath. “Fine. Why did you, then? Why are you acting like this? What _happened_?”

She stepped away and Raven’s arms fell back to her sides. Clarke finally took a moment to stop then. There was a blazing in her veins that had her wanting to rip apart the walls with her bare hands, but it was all a blanket to the real pain underneath, the realisation that had her shaken at the core. She forced in a shuddering breath in efforts to try and calm the carnage.

“Lexa she… she made me turn. Said something about some psycho killer who apparently has it out to kill me, which is fucking great. Kept me in that room, the one with the metal door, said I couldn’t leave if I didn’t turn.” Clarke let through a small laugh, but there was no lingering smile with it. “I thought she was going to kill me, you know. Thought she’d take it for herself. I don’t think I would have stopped her. I don’t know.”

“That’s why you’re upset?” Raven asked, her brow creasing. Clarke just laughed coldly again and took another drink of the vodka, her face twisting into a grimace.

“Fuck me, I forget the taste.” It had been years since she’d last had it. She couldn’t say she missed it. “I got out Raven.” Clarke said, and her eyes were slow as they met Raven’s sight again. “I escaped. I don’t know how. But when I shifted back, I wasn’t in the room anymore. I was out, in the forest.”

Raven blinked at her. “Like, out out? Outside, out?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “What other out is there, Raven?” she muttered, but Raven seemed to be genuinely serious, eyes flicking between hers.

“No I mean—you were free, is that what you are saying? No restraints, no chains, no nothing. You were _out_ out.”

Free. The word made her want to both scream and cry. She couldn’t say anything. The hurricane was building up in her chest again.

Raven took a tentative step towards her, and Clarke thought she was beginning to catch on to the cause of her turmoil now. “Before you said you felt it,” Raven started carefully. “You felt… happy.”

Her empty hand curled into a fist. She dug her nails into palm until she felt it sting.

“Not me. Not me, it. The… the spirit. Wanheda. Whatever the fuck it’s called.” Clarke eyes screwed shut and she wanted to fall to her knees. But she grit her teeth, even if the burning ache in her chest was overwhelming now, was spreading like an infection and making her choke. “I don’t—I don’t feel anything. I don’t remember. When I turn it’s like… like being asleep. I just, I’m _gone_ , I don’t remember. I’m not there. Not present.”

Her eyes drew open again. Clarke stared at the dent in the wall.

“But when it… when it got out. I felt it. I felt it like it was me. I remember the… the feeling, the warmth. It was surreal. It didn’t feel real. I felt it when it dragged its claws in the bark. It was rough, one of the nails got caught once.” She didn’t bother to try stop the tears that fell this time. She watched them fall and hit the carpet, leaving tiny damp dots. “It was so happy Raven,” Clarke whispered. She couldn’t breathe. “Nothing else. Just… it was just so _fucking_ happy.”

“And what the fuck do I do now, Rae?” Clarke snapped, that terrified anger flaring up again. She threw out her arms and pulled her lip back. “It’s been so long, it’s been so goddamn long. I’ve locked it at every chance I’ve had. We built a cage, and I hate, I _hate_ it. It killed him, Raven. Made _me_ kill him, made me feel it. But now…”

Clarke paused. She was panting now. She tilted her head back and stared up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know. How could something… kill, murder in such cold blood, but feel that. Feel that _warmth_. It was strong enough even I felt it, Rae. And it wasn’t a happiness at getting out, at knowing it could find some other fucking victim or whatever. It was just for the sun. For the grass. Even the smell of the air.”

Clarke brought her gaze back down. Looked to Raven. She hadn’t seen her look so thoroughly taken back in a long time.

Clarke released a shaky sigh. “Do you think it was fair? To trap it for so long? To just… lock it in a cage and look the other way?”

“What other choice did we have?” Raven answered, though not after a long silence. Raven shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “What would you do if you got out? It wants to kill, right?”

Clarke swallowed and she nearly chocked on it. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” She pulled in a breath then, and finally breached the thing she had been desperately trying to escape ever since she’d walked through the door. “Raven what if… do you think it killed him because it wanted to, or because it was scared? A new place, new body. New cage. Is it fair to blame it so completely?”

Raven inhaled sharply. “Clarke…”

But Clarke shook her head, stepping back. “Fuck, Raven. I don’t…. god I just don’t _know_. Is it fair? Had it _been_ fair?”

Raven looked like she was going to say something, but while her jaw opened, no words came out. They remained in a tense moment just staring at each other. There had been so much trapped beneath her ribcage and the things that had been said couldn’t be taken back, but Clarke couldn’t even feel regret at that. It was painful, it was utterly and brutally agonising, but it was also incredibly freeing.

“I don’t know.” Raven eventually said. They kept their gaze on each other, though Raven broke it with a sigh, clenching and unclenching her hands uselessly. “I don’t know.”

Clarke swallowed the lump in her throat. She could only give her a small nod.

She didn’t know either.

It felt like she didn’t know anything.

The silence was beginning to become suffocating, so Clarke only lingered an extra beat before she started forward. She kept her pace slow, and Raven didn’t look at her as Clarke grabbed the bottle that she had taken from her before. She stepped back and this time Raven did look up. Her eyes flicked to the bottles in Clarke’s hands.

“It won’t help, you know.” She said quietly.

Clarke sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

She turned around and walked away.

When Clarke was in her room she closed the door and locked it. She spun around and let her back fall into the wood. Slowly she slid down till she was sitting, and when Clarke felt the tears start falling again she pulled the bottle to her lips and took a long, smothering swing. It burned her throat and made her cough.

But the pain was nothing, really. So Clarke let through another sigh, this one heavy and shaking, before she kept going. She kept going and going, and when she finished the first one she went through the second.

It was as she’d finished the second one the idea hit. Clarke paused, slowly letting the bottle pull away from her lips. Her sight drifted to her closet, and she watched it a long enough moment that her eyes began to sting and the blink had her coming back to reality. She made a move to stand up and was shocked when she stumbled a little. Her head briefly spun and Clarke swayed, before the world slowly came back from its abrupt tilt of the axis.

Halfway there.

She moved over to her closet and pushed the slide door open, dropping to her knees as she dug her hand in and shoved the useless clothes to the side, searching the back until finally her fingers grazed the box she was looking for. She brought in her other hand and grabbed it, pulling it out with an extreme amount of delicate care.

Everything was a little blurry now. But still, her hands were trembling when she carefully pulled the lid off the box and the smell of dust drifted up to her. She reached in and took out her father’s hunting knife, setting it to the side gently, before, after pulling a steady breath, she reached in again but pushed for bottom. She felt the paper brush against her fingertips and Clarke almost threw up.

She pulled it out. For the moment Clarke could do nothing but stare at it, feeling her stomach roll and her heart become a frantic desperate beat in her ears. The photo was shaking in her hands.

It had been a very long time since she’d last seen his face.

He was younger here. They had just graduated high school. Normally he was always with someone—he was the photobomber type, but social and friendly enough that no one really minded—but this was one of the rare times of a photo just holding him. Clarke was the one who’d taken it. He had told her to delete it the moment he realised. They had been sitting together on the grass, having just officially graduated and savouring the last time to take in the school grounds.

She had thought he had looked delicate for a moment then. They sat on the grass and he was just staring out onto the field, the sun was a fading light that was careful as it leaked onto his features. Clarke had taken the photo with the intention to recreate it later.

He had tried uselessly to get her to rid of it, but all it had taken was a charming smile and a soft please and he had caved.

She hadn’t looked at the photo in years.

Clarke stood up. Her hand shot out and saved her from falling, as she had miscalculated and gotten up far too fast. “Fucking idiot,” she muttered under her breath. She held the photo tight yet gently in her hand as she strode over to her drawer cabinet. It was an odd contradiction, how the photo was simultaneously like fragile cracked glass in hands but something that could never even slip, so her grip was stubbornly firm.

She used to have a cigarette or two, back in college. Nothing serious and only every once in a long while. Her mother had given her hell when she found out, and she hadn’t had another since. But she knew she had a lighter somewhere amongst her junk. She pulled open the drawers, shovelling through the contents and cursing more than once whenever her hand bumped the narrow drawer confines a little too hard.

She found it right in the back corner of the third drawer. Clarke stepped back as she now held the lighter in her hands. She tested it worked, and at the flick and birth of a sudden flame, she felt relief sag her shoulders.

Clarke moved over to the window at the back of her room. The sun was setting now. There were barely any clouds out, and the sight revealed mostly just the darkening underbelly of the sky, the desperate bleeding as slowly but surely, rising night ate away at the fringes.

She unlocked the window and pulled it up. It was probably stupid to be testing her balance right now, but Clarke wasn’t exactly in the sanest of minds, so with a sigh she sat herself over the sill. She kept herself half in, half out, her right leg still touching the carpeted floor of her bedroom, the other dangling and feeling the rough texture of the outer wall.

Clarke admired the dying sky a moment.

It was a soft thing. She never really understood it. She could still feel such a pandemonium inside, but despite that the outside still retained its quiet. She was thrashing wildly and throwing fists into anything solid that could take it, but there was no sound, whenever she was asked where her thoughts wandered her answer would always be the same.

She felt as if the very plates beneath the earth had shifted but she was the only one feeling the relentless pull of the slope. People would only notice if she staggered. It was infuriatingly quiet, because a revelation like _this_ deserved something loud, something that left your eardrums ringing.

Clarke’s gaze dropped to the photo in her hand. She stared at it a long moment, feeling the gentle breeze that played with the edges.

“I’m sorry.” Clarke whispered. She blinked the tears away, released a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

Her hand was shaking as she held the photo out. She pointed it towards the sun as it lowered beneath the trees. Clarke flicked the lighter on. She hesitated a beat, the weight of the lighter suddenly incredibly heavy, but with clenched teeth she reached out and brought the flame just under the corner of the photo.

The flames were slow as it caught. They clambered up the moment they latched on, a hungry force that didn’t seem to understand what it was destroying. Clarke stared at it without blinking, watching Finn’s smile as it blackened and it curled until it was gone completely. Clarke only let go when the flames nipped angrily at her fingers.

She watched the ash flutter down, the red sunlight glittering the edges.

Her hands stopped trembling.

-

It was growing cool on the curb.

It had been warm before, the sun had been a terror in the sky, but now the clouds had snuck in and Clarke could feel the temperature slowly but surely dropping as the day began its decline. The town was quiet—it always was this time of day—and the only company Clarke had was the occasional car that drove by. The single exception to this was the dog walker who had drifted past a half hour ago, but they were quick to switch to the other side of the road when the dog went mad at the sight of her. Though realistically, it was probably the scent of her.

“I’m so sorry,” the owner had said, apologising profusely as their dog, a tiny little Jack Russel, barked and yipped and kept forcing the owner to haul the lead back. “She’s never normally like this, I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

Clarke hadn’t said anything. She knew why the dog was going mad, but she couldn’t exactly tell her. Dogs hated wolves. Well, they were _scared_ of them, which typically came out in aggression. It was one of the stranger and more heartbreaking drawbacks to being a werewolf. She hadn’t been able to even go anywhere near a dog in three years.

And _that_ was excluding how absolutely batshit cats went.

The owner eventually managed to wrangle the dog and continue on walking, but Clarke caught the confused and suspicious glancing she kept throwing her even as she walked away. Clarke indulged her with a raised brow and that seemed to be enough to have her hastily looking away with red cheeks.

Clarke let out a sigh, craning her neck. She looked up and watched the clouds crowd in. It was all white now, only bare traces of blue leaking throughout. She should probably get back to the store. Initially she had come out here to get away from the heavy smells of the art store, which while on any other day would give her comfort—when her head was still pulsing and she was squinting in daylight it just made her feel worse. She had just about managed to get drunk enough last night that everything went numb. But now she was hungover, and frankly she hadn’t missed it one bit.

The thought of _it_ brought her to back why she had even started drinking in the first place, and Clarke clenched her jaw as she spread out her hand flat against the pavement. Trying to focus on the rough feel of the texture below, how once warm was now cool; the tiny nips from the miniscule rocks you could only see if you bothered to crouch down and look.

Her nose twitched suddenly and Clarke furrowed her brow, straightening her back and glancing around the street. She recognised that scent, and Clarke saw them soon reveal themselves, Caleb coming out from an alleyway and offering her a grin that always seemed a little too wide.

“You aren’t in the shop today,” he noted, and after a nod from Clarke sat himself down next to her. He left some space between them and Clarke was grateful.

“Lunch break.” Clarke murmured. She looked out onto the road again. There was a crack down the middle, the white line slanted because of it. The perfectionist in her wanted to shove down the peaking tarmac and fix the line.

She saw him nod his head in the corner of her eye. “Four o’clock seems a little past a lunch break.”

“A late lunch break then.”

“You really managed to wait till four o’clock on a werewolf stomach to eat?”

“Caleb.” Clarke turned her head to face him, hardening her voice. “Drop it.”

He watched her a moment before giving in, sighing and raising his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll be quiet. Even if you’re being very weird.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him. Caleb was snarky by nature, and while normally it wouldn’t bother her she wasn’t in the mood for it today. Everything still felt out of place. Off balance. There was only one person she knew who had ever had the ability to calm her, but she was the cause of this restlessness. It was a catch-twenty two that had Clarke wanting to scream into her fist.

“I’d prefer to be alone, Caleb.” She muttered, but Caleb just laughed quietly under his breath.

“Well, I would leave you alone, but I could smell your distress from a mile away.”

Now that got Clarke’s attention. She blinked at him, hating the sudden exposure she felt. “What do you mean?”

He tilted his head at her. “You know how dogs can smell your emotions, right? It’s like that.” His lips spread in a slow smile. “Haven’t you ever noticed that you tend to instinctively know what someone is feeling without them telling you?”

Clarke watched him closely. “I thought you were only just bitten,” she muttered low, but Caleb didn’t seem at all phased from the change in tone.

He just smirked at her. “You forget I’m a scientist Clarke.”

Clarke only stared at him a moment longer before sighing. She glanced away again. She still wasn’t in the mood for company, would far prefer to just wallow alone, but it was beginning to become apparent that she wasn’t going to be that lucky. She internally scowled. What did she do to get this amount of this bad luck in her life? Probably committed genocide in a past life or something, and now karma was finally coming for her.

“Come on, you trust me don’t you? Talk to me.”

“I’m tired, Caleb.”

She kept looking out onto the street, even as she saw him huff in the corner of her eye. “Something’s happened.” There was a pause, and Clarke thought the universe was actually about to throw her a bone when he spoke again. “Your heart is racing.”

Clarke frowned. She hadn’t noticed it had started speeding up, but Caleb was prodding and she was growing increasingly restless. “It’s nothing.” She brushed off, but her teeth were gritted now. Fucking body. It didn’t help that she could feel the turmoil rising again.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Clarke stilled. Her eyes snapped to the side to his, watching the frown that fell across his face at her reaction. But Clarke didn’t care. Her heart stumbled in her chest.

“What?” Caleb whispered, and she knew that he could hear her heart rate spike even more.

She just stared at him, swallowed the storm in her throat, but unable not to hear his words and when she had heard them last; _said_ them last, when Lexa had trapped, what she’d made her do, what she had _felt_ …

Clarke released a trembling breath. “You remember what happens don’t you, when you turn?”

Caleb’s frown deepened at her question that had seemingly come out of nowhere, but he gave her a hesitant nod. “Yeah, of course.” He looked at her strangely, and Clarke found there was something sharp in his gaze, something that made her want to inch back. “Don’t you?”

“What’s it like, when you turn? When you shift you… you’re there, right? You’re in control?”

It didn’t look like Caleb wanted to talk about himself, but while he clenched his jaw he complied. “Yes, it’s not… there’s still the—the more _animal_ mindset, you’re a wolf after all, but you’re still there.”

“And you remember everything, everything you do?”

Caleb’s eyes were jumping her up and down. “Why are you asking? Do you…” he paused, and Clarke could quite literally see him reign himself in. “Do you not remember?”

But Clarke just averted her gaze. Looked to the curb of the pavement, the tiny cracks from years of lack of repair. “If you killed someone as a wolf, you’d count that as yourself wouldn’t you?” she murmured quiet, but she knew he heard when his jaw snapped shut.

That brought in silence. Clarke still didn’t look up at him.

She spread out her hand again. Watched the slight tremor as it hovered over the tarmac.

“It’s still you, right?” Clarke tried to keep her voice steady, even if it came out bordering on breathless. “End of the day… it’s still you. It still counts as you.”

Caleb seemed to realise she wasn’t really looking for a verbal answer anymore.

Clarke shook her head, brought up her hands and ran them through her hair. “I remember it. I remember it like it was yesterday, like he had only just… I felt it. I remember it. But now I don’t.” She finally glanced up and met Caleb’s eyes. A frown fell across her. “I don’t remember what happens anymore. I just… blackout. Get flashes in dreams. But the first time, the first shift…”

Caleb blinked at her. “You don’t remember what happens when you turn?” he asked, and there was such an odd amount of curiosity in his voice, the tone that she only very rarely heard.

Her mouth felt dry, but when she swallowed she thought she tasted blood.

It wasn’t hers.

“Not anymore.” She said. She let through a shaky exhale. “Not anymore,” she repeated in a murmur.

Nothing happened like it did anymore. She didn’t live like she did anymore, she didn’t dream like she did anymore. The days weren’t the same, the planned routine was nothing but broken pieces now, and _worse_ , it all had changed again. Because she wasn’t thinking like she did anymore. She wasn’t denying it so utterly anymore, wasn’t refusing any attempt at defence anymore.

“Something happened, when you were turned.” Caleb spoke, seeming to realise that Clarke wasn’t going to continue. She looked away again. Offered nothing more than an absent nod. But Caleb seemed to take it as something valuable. “It traumatised you. Hurt you.”

Clarke closed her eyes. “Caleb…”

“So you’re saying that you don’t remember what happens when you turn, ever since then?” he went on, seeming to ignore her. “You remember whatever happened on your first turning, and it hurt you, but not any other time?”

She didn’t say anything. Just focused on breathing.

And after a long silence, Caleb spoke up again. “Maybe it’s protecting you,” he muttered quietly, and Clarke’s eyes snapped open.

“What?” she breathed but Caleb was just staring at her with wide eyes.

He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Think about it, why would you only remember one night? You hate it. You’ve told me that. You hate when you turn. It must know that. So it makes you forget, not experience it. And _then_ it only gives you bits and pieces in dreams—that’s what you said, correct? It’s shielding you from it, it knows that turning is painful for you.” Caleb stared at her with a type of fascination that made her uneasy. “Incredible,” he whispered, and his eyes squinted, flicking back and forth.

Clarke furrowed her brows. She was about to say something—because there was a discomfort she didn’t like clawing in her stomach—when she caught the sound of approaching footsteps. They both tensed and Clarke saw that Caleb suddenly looked ready to bolt, but he didn’t move when Clarke looked up to who was nearing.

She realised who he was with a slow blink. “Wells?”

Wells smiled at her as he walked over. “Hey, Clarke.” He greeted and she felt guilt tighten her chest.

“Shit, did I stay out too long? Fuck Wells I’m—“

But Wells cut her off with a gentle laugh. “No, no, don’t worry Clarke. You’re fine. I’m not here to drag you back by the ear.”

Clarke released a relieved breath, offering him a shaky smile. He returned it, and now that the panic was passed she realised he held a plastic bag in one of his hands—it smelt like chips with a bit of chicken and she felt her stomach growl a petulant grumble—but his eyes had drifted over to Caleb, and Clarke saw him watching them interact with a slightly quirked brow.

“Oh right, Caleb this is Wells, my boss. Wells this is Caleb.” Wells offered him a friendly smile that seemed to be ever-present with him and held out a hand. Caleb only hesitated a beat before, with some cautiousness, he reached out and shook his hand.

“I’m guessing you’re a friend of Clarke’s?” Wells asked. Caleb stared at him a moment before nodding.

“I am. You are as well?”

“Well,” Wells shot her a grin. “One can dream.” He threw her a wink and Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” she retorted, but Wells just kept grinning.

A pause came between them, and when Caleb just continued glancing between her and Wells it seemed that, unsurprisingly, Wells was the one to break the tension. “Anyway,” Wells started, stepping forward towards Clarke. “I’ve noticed you tend to eat enough for a family of four. And I mean that with no offence,” he rushed to add, not that Clarke had taken any insult anyway. Wells stretched out the plastic bag. “But I saw you haven’t eaten today. I went and got something for myself but figured maybe I’d nab something for you too, so.”

Clarke was already shaking her head as he handed the food over. “Oh Wells, you didn’t have to do that,” she chuckled nervously, and while initially she tried to hand it back her stomach was pretty much collapsing in relief and desperate to take the offered energy.

But Wells just laughed. “Take it Clarke, it’s nothing. I probably should have got you something healthier but… well, the chicken shop is closer than the café so.” He gave her a shrug and Clarke thanked him again, internally caving and taking the bag. It was warm in her hands and just the smell alone had her stomach growling again. She hadn’t noticed how starving she had been until now.

“Well, I think I’ll take my leave now.” Caleb said, casting a glance at Wells, his features oddly serious, before he stood up and dusted his jeans. “We’ll meet again soon, right Clarke?”

Clarke didn’t know what was in his voice, but Caleb in the time she’d know him always seemed to be like that. “Yeah, sure. See you.”

He nodded, offered her a smile, and when he started walking back the way he’d come she saw him throw one last look over his shoulder before he disappeared back into the alley.

Wells watched where he had slipped away before bringing his sight back to her. “Bit of an odd one that,” he said, somewhat gingerly, but Clarke assured his fears of being rude by chuckling.

“You’re telling me,” she muttered, and Wells shared her smile.

“Right, well.” He dug his hands into his pockets. “I’ll leave you to it then. And while it does look absolutely riveting on the curb, there’s a bench down the road if you decide you want to be a normal human being like of the rest of us.”

Clarke’s smile faltered, but she hid it as quickly as she could, scoffing and purposely looking away. “Very funny.” She shot back, and she heard Wells let out another soft chuckle as he conceded, before finally he left too.

She waited till she couldn’t hear his steps anymore. Once she was sure she was alone again—and ignoring the tiny nagging voice that sounded suspiciously like Lexa, of her warning and pleading—Clarke opened up the bag, reaching in a taking a chip.

“Fuck that’s good,” she hummed, though at this point _anything_ would have tasted like heaven right now considering her hunger. She might have even sacrificed her morals and eaten kale.

Wells hadn’t said anything when she had come in late. Hadn’t mentioned that her steps were more a shuffle and there was permanent knotting in her brows. He’d probably taken one look at her garbage-like appearance and deduced she’d gotten shitfaced last night. She only suspected that he knew because he had been acting different today, gave her wider space than usual and kept his voice low and soft.

She might have some of the worst luck in the world, but Wells was a godsend.

The temperature was dropping slowly again but Clarke didn’t really notice it. She felt some hairs rise on her arms and she just watched them distantly, continuing to eat the chips, thinking that Raven was probably going to murder her when she got home because she was well intentioned on raiding the pantry again. She should probably stop by the grocers if she valued living.

Clarke hated the silence that came back. Even if she found herself more irritated than anything when Caleb had sat next to her, now that she was alone again she wasn’t sure what was worse. Because of course Caleb had brought it all up again, and with no alcohol nearby, Clarke had no way to numb it out. Which was probably a good thing, but still. She was bitter.

She was thinking that maybe it was time to go back. Either home or the store, she wasn’t sure which, when she caught movement in her periphery and glanced across the street. A sigh escaped her.

It was a dog.

A German Shepard, probably an adult one judging by the size. She watched as it padded down the pavement opposite to her, and internally she was already bracing herself for it to go mad. But there was no owner behind it, no panting soul stumbling to make a mad dash for it; it was alone, which meant that if it didn’t immediately bolt at the sight of her, it would probably try to go for her.

Because her day was already going so fucking wonderfully.

The dog paused. He ducked his head, sniffing the ground before looking up and staring right at her. Clarke braced herself. She slowly put the bag with the chip box to the side, dusting the salt and grease off her jeans. A decision she’ll most likely end up regretting later.

She waited for him to snarl, but the dog just kept looking at her. It seemed they were stuck in a standoff, both waiting on the others reaction, and Clarke was considering to just up and leave and not risk it when he started forward. His pace wasn’t fast; it was slow, clearly apprehensive, but Clarke was confused to find him approaching her more like she was a stranger and less like she was a werewolf.

A car suddenly drove past and he jumped back in time for it to miss him, but not for the car driver to honk loud enough that Clarke cursed and clutched her ear.

“Fuck me,” she hissed, the ringing sting making her grit her teeth. Goddamn it. She was going to _kill_ whoever invented cars.

When the pain finally went away and she looked up again she found the dog closer. He had crossed the road now, and Clarke blinked as he padded up to her, pausing only a few metres away. Clarke just stared at him. She was waiting for _some_ type of reaction—hell even a baring of teeth would be enough, but there was nothing.

“…What are you doing?”

It probably wasn’t the grandest of ideas to be talking with a dog, but what the hell else was she meant to do? Dogs hated wolves. Full stop. Even damn _puppies_ went rabid at her proximity. But for some reason, somehow, she’d managed upon a dog that apparently had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

When Clarke just continued to stare dumbly at him the dog sniffed the air near her, and he lowered his head as he slowly came forward. Clarke felt something in her bristling instinctively, but he must have _finally_ sensed it because he did the first expected thing of how she’d thought this interaction would go.

He stopped his approach when Clarke’s lip pulled back, instead retreating slightly.

He wagged his tail.

Clarke frowned. She looked him over, but she saw no collar. No tag. He could be a runaway, but a stray seemed more likely. She had no idea where he could have come from though. She ended up just watching him uneasily, totally convinced this was some strange ploy the dog was using—and she wasn’t even going to unpack just how insane that sounded—when he abruptly darted forward snagged the handles of the plastic bag and jumped away.

“Hey!” Her reflexes kicked in though and her hand snapped out in time to grab it and snatch it back.

The dog tried to make another go for it but she growled this time and he backed off. Now Clarke was _really_ expecting some type of confrontation, but she was absolutely dumbfounded to see him just continue to wag his tail, a tongue now lolling out. He was practically shuffling on his feet now, and Clarke realised he was excited.

Did he think they were playing?

“Okay, you’re either stupidly brave, or bravely stupid. And I’m leaning on the latter.”

The dog didn’t seem to take her insult. Not that she expected it to. But if it did at least it would have explained things, because what the _fuck_ was even going on?

When Clarke wasn’t forthcoming with any enthusiasm the dog seemed to settle down again at least, but there was no aggression in his eyes or demeanour and it was still really throwing Clarke off. Because she had no idea what to do. If anything, she was a little pissed at it; one for trying to steal her food, and two for throwing _another_ spanner in the works of what had originally been her world view.

“When it rains, it pours,” he father used to say, usually when Clarke ended in trouble that had him torn between praising or scolding her, biting back a smile as Clarke would give him her stubborn refusal on apology after shoving a kid who had mocked her friends. And then proceed to detail all the _other_ things she’d done as well.

The thought of him made breathing a little harder, but Clarke just clenched her fists and forced a slow breath.

A soft whine had her abruptly yanked back into reality. She saw it had come from the dog that was sitting now, paws arranged neatly in front of him, ducking his head and nudging thin air. It seemed he knew not to come too close again.

Clarke followed where he was urging her, and realised it was the bag. “You want my food, huh?” she murmured, and while she knew he couldn’t understand her he seemed to get _food_.

The dog shuffled with his excitement, but he remained sitting. His tail was swishing rapidly back and forth now.

Clarke sighed. “You realise you have probably chosen the worst person in the entire world to get food from, right? Like, top of the food chain bad.”

He whined again, his nose twitching and paws clicking against the pavement.

“I’m not giving you anything.” She muttered with a scowl. “I’m not. If you want something maybe go find someone _not_ designed to kill you.”

Of course, he offered no reply. But he shifted now, adjusted himself so he was lying down, resting his head on his paws and staring up at her.

“ _No_. Don’t you dare. You’re not getting anything.”

His tail kept wagging.

“Do you even realise how idiotic you’re being? I’m not even a fucking werewolf. I’m…” Clarke faltered then. She swallowed thickly. “Just leave, alright? I know this town seems to be goddamn swarming with wolves now but there’s more humans. Go annoy them. Even just down the street, there’s a supermarket if you push it just a couple streets. I’m sure you can swindle something there.”

Her words weren’t doing anything. He continued looking up at her, big hazel eyes open and stuck on her. He licked his gums. Let out a tiny huff.

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him. “Come on. Off you go. Shoo. Vamonos.”

He didn’t. He continued to lie there, and Clarke would take it to her grave but she could feel her resistance waning, because _sure_ while she was adamant that what was quite possibly the dumbest dog she’d ever met should get the hell away from her; she wasn’t completely heartless. Even if she felt like it sometimes.

Her gaze drifted to the food at her side. She bit her lip.

But she was quick to scoff and shake her head. “No, no, I’m not doing this. _We’re_ not doing this.” At seeing those pleading eyes again she threw up her arms. “You’re a dog! A _dog_. And I’m a werewolf. Do you seriously not see something wrong here?”

She stared at him and had never been more frustrated that animals couldn’t speak. She had gotten used to werewolves, where they understood you in whatever form you were in. And according to Raven even Wanheda understood human language.

But Clarke didn’t want to think about that, and maybe that was the thing that finally broke her refusal.

Clarke eventually sighed, and it was long and loud enough her lungs ran out of air to push. She briefly looked away, screwing her eyes shut and cursing under her breath. Stupid dog. She had no idea why it hadn’t bolted at the sight of her, but she was tired and he was still staring patiently up at her and fine. _Fine_.

She opened her eyes and shook her head. When she reached into the bag and dug her hand in the thin box, snagging a piece of chicken and pulling a small bit off she saw the dog jump up to his paws at the movement.

“Manipulative bastard,” she insulted under her breath, glaring up at him as her hand came up with the bits of chicken. Another sigh broke out before she could stop it. “Fine then. Come on, come here.”

He eagerly came forward and snatched the chicken out of her hands, Clarke grimacing at the wet feel of his salvia.

“Urgh, gross,” she muttered with disgust, and once he’d swallowed down the scraps he looked up at her in a way she could only assume to mean something along the lines of ‘that’s rich coming from you’. Clarke scowled at him, wiping her hand clean against her jeans. “Dog dribble is decidedly worse than wolf,” she grumbled, though it felt like she was digging her own hole.

She could see that he was practically bursting with the energy of his happiness now. But Clarke wasn’t caving anymore. Yes she’d conceded, but not completely. She had _some_ pride after all. A shred of an ego that got so routinely beaten it was a surprise it still existed. The dog seemed to realise he wasn’t going to get anymore, and she watched him intently as he padded toward her.

She didn’t trust him not to make a grab for it though so she took the bag and shifted it to her other side. Out of his reach. The dog paused briefly, eyes flicking as if deciding whether to make another run for it; but eventually he caved, tongue hanging out of his mouth and ears relaxed. At getting no reaction but a continued cautious stare from her, he came forward and licked her cheek.

Clarke ducked and gently batted his snout away. And despite the annoyance she felt flaring up a surprised chuckle jumped out instead. “Easy boy,” she laughed, and after realising what she’d said proceeded to immediately scowl again. She wasn’t getting soft on him. He was a dog and she was a werewolf. There was a decided line in the sand—even if for whatever reason, this particular dog seemed to delight in crossing it.

She kept a hand at his chest when he kept trying to come forward, only stopping when even his whines weren’t getting her to relent. Clarke finally took a moment to properly look him over, something tightening in her chest when she saw he was a bit thinner than he should have been, again noticing the lack of collar or anything identifying.

“Don’t have anyone, do you?” she murmured low, unable to stop the softness in her voice.

He tried to nudge her again, and this time Clarke let him, her hand apprehensive and overly gentle as she let her fingers graze his head. A part of her was still waiting for him to bite her, just _waiting_ for the switch to flick. She remembered the nasty dog bite she’d gotten on her leg two years ago. It was completely healed over now, but the memory stayed.

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends,” she said, her hand now shifting to scratch his ear. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I still think you’re incredibly stupid.”

He ducked his head away from her petting, and the abrupt jolt of panic had immediately tensing up—

But he didn’t attack her, he just came forward and laid himself down again, except this time he rested his head on her thigh instead of his paws.

Clarke stared down at him with her jaw agape.

“Seriously?” she breathed, and the dog merely huffed and settled himself, eyes closing shut once he’d deemed himself comfortable enough.

Clarke, briefly, wondered if she’d accidently consumed acid and this was all some crazed lucid hallucination.

But the dog’s head was warm and heavy in her lap, and eventually she came to realisation that, no matter if this was real or not, she couldn’t exactly move and push him off. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes, max.” She muttered at him, and he adjusted himself slightly again, Clarke feeling his paws pressing against the side of her leg.

His eyes peaked open as he glanced up at her.

She really hated how adorable it was.

She ate the rest of her food with him lying there. Clarke decided the best method forward was just to ignore him, but well, if she maybe slipped him a couple pieces of chicken and her hand—completely accidently, of course—ended up idly stroking his back, she decided that it meant nothing and absolutely had no effect on her.

But internally, deep down it sort of did.

Because it reminded her it had been nice, in that period when Clarke had first met Lexa, before she’d known what she was. There was none of that apprehension she’d seen in her eyes, the conflict and caution. Indra used to shoot her glares that were of her being a nuisance for Heda, to waste valuable time training her, but now they were tense and fear filled.

And it was selfish really, just how much missed, however briefly, when she was nothing.

It had been twenty minutes now, and Clarke’s eyes dropped to the dog asleep in her lap. He hadn’t been scared for one moment. Maybe nervous, but the apprehension was warranted with strangers. It was strange and it made her uneasy, wanting to clutch the curb edge to stop the world spinning, but it was also relieving; made the knot loosen, her chest warm.

It reminded her of her mother, oddly. But it was even more of a mess with her, they were strangers that knew every piece of another, and Clarke thought of her mother’s face and the hurt when she had snapped at her at hearing she was moving here. Clarke had caught her scent now and again over the past month, tiny flashes that always had such a maelstrom bubbling up in her gut.

Clarke reached into her pocket. She went for the one that _wasn’t_ blocked by the sleeping dog, who for the time being she decided to dub Chip in her head—so what, she was sentimental, and chips had been the initial motivator in their unbelievably weird encounter—and pulled out her phone. She used the thumbprint to unlock it, having to rid her finger of the grease when it didn’t work at first, a shaky sigh coming out of her as she opened her contacts.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. She bit her lip.

The anger had dimmed now, the shock faded and Clarke knew she could only ignore her for so long until she would inevitably run into her. And maybe, _maybe_ , when Clarke whispered “fuck it,” to herself and tapped her mother’s number, it had a little to do with the fact she felt like she was drowning in the middle of ocean and no one could see. Maybe, even after everything that had happened, she just needed to hear her mother tell her it’ll be alright.

Abby picked up on the second ring.

“Clarke?” she breathed, and the sheer amount of shock and _relief_ in her tone had Clarke shifting uncomfortably, guilt thick and heavy in her chest.

Chip grumbled below her from the movement and she shot him a glare.

She swallowed the rock in her throat. Tried to ignore how sweaty her palms were all of a sudden. “Hey.” She answered, and she could just about hear Abby’s beam through the phone.

“Hi. I’m—I’m glad you called. I was worried you…”

“Yeah.” A sigh fell out of her, solemn and shaky. “Me too.”

Abby remained silent and Clarke clawed her free hand into the pavement.

“How are you going?” Clarke asked, and she knew that Abby was instantly seeing the olive branch for what it was. She knew it in her reply, where she mentioned everything but the move itself, talked about the bread shop near the town centre where their baked rolls are divine enough to make you cry but never of the actual moving—invading—itself. Clarke was simultaneously grateful for the purposeful avoidance and wracked with guilt.

After there was a beat of silence, one heavy enough that Clarke knew what it was leading into. Even through the phone Clarke could hear her pull in the steadying breath. “And what about you? Are you…” she paused, then seemed to decide to reword. “How are you?”

Clarke let the question sink in. She felt Chip adjust himself in her lap, and she looked down to see his eyes pry open, staring up at her. “It’s been a long week.” She said, her voice filled with a tiredness that held a depressing amount of familiarity. She raised her hand and ran it through her hair with a sigh. “It’s just… it’s been a long fucking week.”

There must have been something in the way she said it, because her mother didn’t chide her for cursing.

A long week was an understatement, but what else could she say? Clarke had fooled herself into thinking the progress she had been making was _enough_ ; that pretending where they were at was where she wanted to be. But now the denial had been forcibly ripped from her and stamped into the ground, and Clarke realised that everything she had felt was never closure or moving on, but a hidden guise that the pain had never healed but was simply shoved aside.

It reminded Clarke of trying to run after a star. She could chase it all she wanted, but at the end of the day her feet will never leave the ground.

“You’ve still got next week,” Abby offered quietly, and Clarke felt her chest strain under all being contained. “I don’t know what… I know things are hard, sometimes. Painful and difficult and suffocating, but you’re—you’re strong Clarke. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. You’ll be okay,” she promised, because apparently she still possessed that ability to know what Clarke needed to hear even when _she_ herself didn’t. “You’ll be okay.”

Clarke said nothing, but for a moment she thought she believed her.

-

It took a little over a week before she saw her again.

Clarke was surprised actually, just how long she managed alone. In all honesty she had been expecting Lexa to chase after her just a day after their confrontation. But she was given time, one of the most selfless gifts to give, and with it Clarke realised that she missed her. She _missed_ her not like anything she’d ever missed, as if without her seeing Lexa had somehow stolen a piece of her a soul and had run off with it, and now Clarke was left with a missing piece that craved to be found.

There was still that hurt that seeped into her like water leaking through the cracks, but she had had far too much time with her thoughts. She knew that she wasn’t ready for what Lexa forced. After so long of consistently shoving down her wolf as far as it could go and _never_ letting rise, not even a glimpse, to suddenly rip it out in the light of day was jarring and terrifying.

But could she have ever, truly been ready? Was it naïve to have hoped she would be? She knew now that there was a sword hanging by a string over her head that was liable to fall at any moment, that a killer who had experimented on his own and others had come here just to kill her. She was a threat. Clarke wasn’t stupid enough to not see that. Lexa had made her swear not to reveal herself to anyone, and it was obvious why.

When you fall into the same pattern long enough it becomes increasingly harder to break. For years Clarke had refused to even acknowledge the thing inside of her as nothing more than a murderer, but had that been fair?

She didn’t know. But she did know that for the first time she was beginning to question, and it was all because of Lexa. It hurt. It _hurt_ like hell, but maybe it was the type that was necessary. And deep down Clarke knew that Lexa was trying to help her. She had been since day one, and what was one mistake in the face of everything else she’d done for her?

She knew it was time to swallow her pride and talk to her. She had been hiding away long enough. There were revelations that she had never thought to chase that had been brought to light because of what Lexa forced, and while she had always harboured a stubbornness that tended to do more harm than good, she knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

Clarke narrowed her eyes at her sketchbook that was laid out before her, pencil in hand as she loosely drew the curve of Lexa’s jaw. Being the bigger person sucked sometimes. The day was winding down now and the store was empty, so when she heard the door open her head immediately popped up. And as if she had somehow already known just where Clarke thoughts had led to, it was Lexa who walked through, a tightness in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before and eyes nervous as they flicked over to her.

She snapped her sketchbook closed far too fast to be subtle. Lexa seemed to see but didn’t say anything, and Clarke prayed to gods she didn’t believe in that she hadn’t caught just what she’d been drawing. She swiftly slipped the book back into its home in the drawer.

Lexa didn’t approach the counter. Instead she lingered by the door, looking like a frame caught on pause, and Clarke quickly realised it was because she was waiting to see if her presence was welcomed or not. Clarke gave her a small nod and like that all that foreign tension drained from her shoulders and she looked genuinely relieved as she finally came forward.

In the back of her mind Clarke thought that Lexa could stab her and kick her to the dirt and she would never not be welcome.

“Hey,” Clarke greeted quietly, when the silence became too stifling as they both eyed each other. The tension between them was strong enough to fold stars.

Lexa blinked at her. She was probably expecting a lot more hostility. “Hey,” she echoed back, and really Clarke hated just how endearing she found the small notes of confusion to be. Lexa suddenly glanced to her feet, eyes coming back up as she pulled in a steadying breath. “We must talk.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” Clarke let out a sigh before she slid off her stool and walked around. “Give me a sec,” she said to Lexa, and after her nod she quickly jogged to the back of a store where an office door stood. She opened it without knocking—there wasn’t much of a point when it was just them two—and leant into the office, holding onto the doorway. “Hey Wells, it alright if I head out?”

Wells looked up from where he was surrounded by a pile of papers. He offered a small smile. “Sure. I wasn’t really doing anything important anyway.”

Clarke pointedly glanced at the stacks of paper on his desk. “Really?” she pushed, and Wells rolled his eyes.

“Let me avoid my duties in peace. And considering whatever _you’ve_ been avoiding the past week, I really don’t think you’re in a position to judge.”

Clarke’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t been avoiding,” she murmured. Wells just arched his brow.

“Right, so you’ve been sulking the past week for the fun of it?”

“Yeah, I’m going. Bye Wells.”

She heard his chuckle as she closed the door.

Clarke saw Lexa was still waiting for her, though she had wandered off slightly to investigate one of the paintings on the wall. They had quite a few propped up around the store, and while most of them were bought there was one or two that had been made by her. Raven had stolen some of the works she had been intending on throwing out when she wasn’t paying attention, managing to somehow sneak it off to Wells and convince him to display it.

The one Lexa was looking at was one of the full moon. It was something she painted a lot. This one was of two though, one slightly blurred and fuzzy as if in a camera that was caught in-between takes, the edge of its curve just hidden behind the other. But when Clarke looked at it, all she saw was the dark spot that sat just off centre of the first moon. A few single flicks of paint. It drove her insane.

“It was Raven.”

Lexa frowned at Clarke’s words, tearing her gaze off the painting and looking to her. “I’m sorry?”

Clarke came forward until their shoulders were nearly brushing. She pointed to the tiny dark spot that was far too dark a shade to blend with the rest. “You see that small spread of dots?” Lexa followed her direction, squinting her eyes as she stepped closer. It took a small while, but eventually Lexa seemed to find it because she nodded, albeit somewhat unsurely. Clarke smiled at her confusion. “It was around four a.m. when I was finishing it. Raven had gone out that night, and she stumbled in totally plastered. She slammed the door and I jumped. I didn’t hear her come up the stairs, I was too focused.”

Lexa quickly looked between her and the painting. “This is yours?” she asked, and her eyes blew wide.

Clarke hadn’t been expecting the awe in her voice at all and she felt her face heat up. She rubbed the back of her neck while a nervous chuckle escaped her. “Uh, yeah. I’ve got way better though. That was… I was going to get rid of it.”

Lexa’s jaw was dropped slightly now. Her eyes flicked back to the painting, and Clarke watched as she seemed to take it in a new light, probably trying to envision the process that Clarke had taken it through. When Lexa glanced to her again her eyes fell to Clarke’s hands first.

“I had no idea,” she spoke so quietly, and Clarke suddenly realised that Lexa could ask for anything she wanted with that softness and she’d cave without pause. “Do you have more?”

Clarke dug her hands into her pockets. “Got a few at home.”

She had never seen Lexa so genuinely stunned before. “If you’re okay with it,” she started hesitantly, “I would really like it if I was able to see the rest of them.” Lexa let out a breathless chuckle then. Clarke wanted to record the sound. “You possess an incredible talent, Clarke.” She breathed.

She thought of the painting of Lexa’s eyes she’d done those weeks ago that was still hung up. “Maybe someday,” Clarke answered, feeling her cheeks somehow burn even worse. She would probably have to hide it before Lexa came. They were left in a beat of silence and Clarke worried that their tension had lost a dangerous amount of hostility and was dipping into worse territories, so she was quick to change the subject and move on. “Come on, we can talk outside if you want. Sun’s out today.”

Lexa only hesitated a moment, her eyes flicking her up and down before she nodded and stepped to the side. Clarke slipped past her and ignored how their arms brushed as they did so. The warmth seeped through her jacket like it was nothing and Clarke briefly wondered how it would feel if there wasn’t anything between them—she could already feel her heat when there was fabric as a barrier—would it be like sparks if it was just skin?

Clarke banished the thought before it could fully form.

She led her out into the street, and they ended up walking a while without speaking. She wasn’t lying, the sun really was out today and it was gorgeous, there were just the right amount of clouds that it didn’t clog up the sky but enough it offered refuge from the sun’s relentless beating. It had rained in the early morning and Clarke could still just about smell it in the air. It was calming really, and Lexa must have felt the same because Clarke wasn’t alone in the tension that seeped from her back.

Clarke kept making glances at her as they strode. It was a little infuriating the tangled mess of emotions she felt when she did. There was still anger at her for what she’d forced but there was also this relief, there was gratefulness and there was hurt. How the hell did she go about it, to damn her for the doing the thing she never wanted to do, but perhaps should have been done.

She had missed her scent. It was the first thing Clarke realised as the silence became a comforting presence between them. There was nothing like it, it was both terrifying and marvelling at the settling she felt deep down. She thought of the sheer shock she’d felt when she had turned and come back only to find that Lexa was still alive, that she hadn’t killed her—not even _injured_ —that she’d done nothing, and Clarke now found herself wondering why she had ever been surprised.

Lexa spoke again when they started leaving the roads and shops of the town. It was without thinking that they both drifted onto the grass, the woods bracketing them at the side. “I have never not been surrounded by wolves,” she started, and Clarke blinked from where she had been staring through the black gaps in the trees. She looked at her but Lexa was still staring ahead. “I was born into this. I’ve told you my parents were the old alphas of the Trikru. Since my first breath, it was known that I would take their place and become Alpha when I was old enough.”

Clarke listened closer than she ever had in her entire life of Lexa’s words. Lexa was a very private person, that much was obvious, getting her to divulge anything even _remotely_ personal of her own volition was like pulling out teeth with your bare hands. So she took her admissions like the absolute treasures they were.

Lexa released a sigh then, and when her shoulders fell Clarke realised the weight that had held them down was far greater than she’d first thought. “It’s all I’ve ever known. And it’s… it’s a different culture. What we do, what we _have_ to do, it is so different to anything that’s considered normal in yours. Violence and death, it’s commonplace. Sometimes to be brutal is necessary. There’s never been any time, and to take it, is to waste it.”

Their pace had slowed the longer Lexa went on. Finally she stopped and Clarke did so with her, Lexa turning her head and meeting Clarke’s gaze. She pulled in a breath that shook, swallowed thickly enough that Clarke watched her throat bob.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you.” Lexa said quietly, and Clarke’s chest constricted. Her eyes had never looked so green. “And I’m sorry that I will likely have to do it again. I know this is new for you, and while it has never been more important to make you able to defend yourself, I think a compromise is needed.”

Clarke’s stare flicked over her. To the sincerity in her eyes that made it feel someone had stolen her lungs and the pleading in the openness of her expression. The stoicism was faded and it was the first time that Lexa had ever looked so openly vulnerable.

“Compromise?” Clarke questioned, trying to hide how her voice shook.

“You aren’t adjusted enough to our ways, but you cannot keep sticking to your own if you want to keep your safety intact. I meant what I said before. You _do_ need to learn, and as fast as possible. Wanheda is the only advantage you have and when Cage finds you, it’ll be your strongest defence.” Lexa took in a breath, and her words became sharper, more reminiscent of the Heda that Clarke knew. “And he will come for you. And he _cannot_ under any circumstance obtain what you have.”

Clarke stared at her as she let the words sink in. “I know.” Clarke eventually replied. A sigh broke out of her and she ran a hand through her hair. “I know. I’ve been—It’s been a long time. I’ve been running from it for a long time.”

Her eyes briefly fell to the ground as she forced a steadying breath.

She met Lexa’s stare, and hated more than anything how effortlessly Lexa offered her strength to continue through nothing but a soft gaze. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, to face it.” Clarke eventually muttered, her words so soft she suspected Lexa could only hear because of her heightened hearing. “Not with what happened. But you’re right, I know that. To refuse to do anything about it with a target over my head…”

“I can protect you. My pack can,” Lexa amended, and Clarke knew from the hesitance in her voice that she was offering it as reassurance. But it wasn’t a guarantee.

“For how long, though? I do want a life, you know. And as nice as your house is I’d really prefer _not_ to be under house arrest until my deathbed.” Clarke shook her head. “This is something I have to do. It’s been long enough.”

Lexa seemed to drift closer to her without conscience thought. “You won’t be alone for it.” She promised, and the utter conviction in her voice had Clarke looking up at her. Lexa hesitated a moment, but with an almost undetectable shake of the head she reached out and gently grasped her hand. Clarke felt the sparks at the contact of skin. “I have broken your trust, and for that I am sorry. But I am still here.”

“I know you are.”

Clarke’s words were soft, but Lexa must have heard them because some tightness that had never really left finally released then, her features smoothening out and her looking so entirely breathtaking that Clarke came to the sudden realisation she would give her entire universes if she’d just ask. It shouldn’t have been that shocking a thing to understand, but when Lexa pulled her hand away from where she had still been gripping her own and Clarke felt that loss—that _loss_ that ached like a stab wound in her soul—Clarke realised Lexa meant far more to her than she’d first thought.

She was convinced that if she stared at Lexa’s hands long enough she’d see them covered them in red. That if she paused, and Clarke truly let her fall into her own self, she would find an absence beneath her ribs. She didn’t quite know how it happened. But somehow Lexa’s hands were wet with her blood from where she now held her beating core.

And what a funny thing it was, how you could rip someone’s heart out without ever raising a finger. How absolutely terrifying it was to realise that your heart had rid itself of you long before you’d ever known.

When Lexa smiled, Clarke watched as her fugitive heart thumped in Lexa’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so i hope you liked that. sorry for getting fake deep on you all, i was listening to soft piano as i wrote and lemme tell you its actually impossible not to get overtly philosophical when writing to piano. its fucking witchcraft man. i dont know what to tell you.  
> anyway, thank you for taking the time of day to read. hopefully you got something out of it. im a bit anxious on how this'll get received but im hoping you liked it. wish you all a good one.  
> (also you’re absolutely right I made the chip™ a dog. fight me on it.)
> 
> translation:  
> Ai moba yu krei yong. - I’m sorry you’re so young.


	7. Breathe In This Copper Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i mean, is it REALLY murder if the guy's a dick?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i know i wrote another goddamn fucking novella again. please dont bring it up. im sobbing at my keyboard. trust me, im absolutely aware of my dumbassery dont worry.  
> would also like to apologise for the time this took (again). insert standard writer's of excuse of abysmal mental health and school being a dick here. im genuinely starting to think my brain just wants me dead at this point.
> 
> also also, would like to put a serious warning for violence in this one. this shit gets bloody, there is gore and some pretty graphic violence at points. if youre sensitive to that sort of thing, please take care, and consider skimming over some bits. thats your warning so none a you can sue me, so with that out the way, enjoy!  
> (as per usual, for that Full Immersion listen to: Okay by Winter Aid)

“You want to know what I think?”

“Not particularly.”

There was a sigh behind her. “Could you support me for once in my life?”

“Do something worth supporting then.”

“ _Clarke_.”

She let go of the pair of jeans she was checking with an exaggerated huff, spinning around to face her. “ _Fine_. What do you think, Raven?” Clarke threw out a hand at her, though Raven merely smirked from where she sat, casually leaning back in an old chair that probably out dated them. There were racks and shelves of clothes stacked behind her, an especially daggy shirt that seemed to have been coloured by a kid on crack. The uneasy combination of red and too sharp of yellow was practically blinding.

“Well,” Raven waved off her attitude, something Clarke wished so much she could do with her. “It must be the absolute worst to be like, a fashion designer werewolf.”

It was irrational. She already knew the op shop was empty, but still her head snapped around and she strained her senses to fully ensure they were alone. She already had been on edge, nothing all-consuming but something that waited just under her skin, an anxious thrum that left her itching and too quick to snap.

They were alone, of course, but Clarke still ground her teeth a little too hard and shot a harsh glare at Raven, who, naturally, seemed entirely unbothered.

“Watch it,” she muttered low, but Raven only rolled her eyes.

“Relax wolfie. Only company we got is that pile of possibly sentient abandoned clothes over there. Did you see some of them? Probably cursed. No wonder they were ditched.”

Clarke did end up throwing a quick glance to said pile of clothes. Raven comments didn’t feel too far off, and though she still made a few wary checks of their aisle, her shoulders relaxed some. Though she was still wondering whether she could get away with stealing the car and making Raven walk home. In an idealistic world, Raven would take it as a reprimand. In the current _realistic_ world, Raven would merely get back at her in a most likely far worse capacity.

So instead she was left sighing. And, after deciding that they were truly alone and safe to talk, she caved a little and took the bait.

“Why would it be bad?”

Raven grinned wide, evidently pleased she would be facing no repercussions. Clarke pitied Raven’s grandmother, the poor soul who’d been the one to actually raise her. Must have been an absolute devil as a child. “Well, you’re pretty much keeping this store afloat the amount times we’ve come in here. You rip your shit all the time. Especially recently.” She frowned a little then. “Been a hell of a few months.”

Clarke wasn’t near enough willing to go down _that_ thought path, so she was relieved when Raven just shook her head and continued.

“Anyway. Since you dress like a corpse who just crawled out of a grave, you’re fine. But if you wore like _high_ fashion, like my-shirt-cost-more-than-your-house fashion, that’d like fucking _suck_ right? If you shift and you’re not ready that’s thousands of dollars down the drain.”

“Hey—”

Raven scoffed. “Griffin, don’t even try to defend your case. We’re literally in a thrift store.”

Clarke glared at her and gave her the finger. Raven just smirked again, smug with victory, and Clarke ignored her as she walked off and left the aisle. She grabbed the pile of clothes she’d picked out before moving along. It really _had_ been a hell of a few months. She’d lost a worrying amount of her wardrobe, if she was being honest. Hence why she was here.

And really, Raven wasn’t _entirely_ wrong. She’d started turning up often enough because of her tendency to shred things that the cashier knew her by name. Not exactly difficult in a small town, but irritating enough she always ended smiling a little too tightly in greeting him.

Raven followed after her, pace irritatingly leisurely and slow. “You know,” she went on, trailing behind her as Clarke’s fingers grazed over a pair of jeans that seemed to be in her size. “I think it goes a little deeper like that. Like, you can’t really have _famous_ werewolves can you? Paparazzi would eventually catch them in the act. Would be inevitable. Secret would’ve gotten out by now.”

“Your point?” Clarke murmured, not bothering to look at her. She decided the pants were good enough and added them to the pile draped over her arm.

Raven huffed. “No point, just musing. Probably some pack law, right? ‘ _Don’t get famous_.’ Could be some crazy talented musical werewolf out there, but we’ll never know. Too risky. Too dangerous.”

Clarke paused. She actually glanced to her then, finding that Raven was mindlessly folding the edge of a shirt, brow knotted deeply.

“Hey,” she called out, keeping her voice soft. Raven glanced up. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Told you. Musing.”

“Musing a little on the depressing side.”

But Raven only chuckled and shook her head. “You worry too much, Griff.”

Clarke frowned. That wasn’t entirely untrue, but there was something insistent that still nagged at her around the edges of her mind. She took a moment, biting her lip and glancing down the aisle—she probably had enough clothes now, though considering how the current weeks had been, chances were she’d most likely be back here sooner than she’d like—before looking to Raven again.

“We should do something.” Raven gave her an odd look at the abrupt change of topic, but Clarke kept resolute, offered the same type of smile she gave her when they were fifteen and she was trying to convince her that sneaking into an abandoned lot at midnight was a good idea. “We haven’t done anything fun in ages.”

And like before, when they were young and foolish, Raven gave her the same answering grin. “I suppose we haven’t.” She mused, and soon tilted her head. “How far’s the next full moon?”

The answer came instantly. “Two weeks.” Clarke paused a moment though, before she added a little quieter, “twelve days.”

Raven hummed. “You know, there’s this new club opening up out of town. Meant to be a hell of a opening party.”

Clarke’s grin became a little more like Raven’s, devilish and full of teeth. “Oh?”

“I know someone who lives near,” Raven went on, and though Clarke hid it, she was relieved to find there was a familiar excitement back in her voice. “Could crash at their place.”

“You know the opening date?”

“This weekend.”

Her smile softened, abandoning the façade for a beat. “You up to go for it then, and go totally, what-the-hell-even-happened-last-night wild?”

She was done with her clothes now, and Raven came up with a wide smirk, hooking her arm through Clarke’s free elbow. “Clarke Abigail Griffin, I am truly, _deeply_ hurt that you would think so low of me to do something like that.” It took everything in her to keep a straight face, and soon Raven was waving a hand anyway. “Who am I kidding? _Obviously_ my answer is yes. Be a relief to get out of this shithole for once.”

Clarke rolled her eyes as they walked towards the counter. “It’s not that bad, Raven.”

“There’s not even _one_ Starbucks. One. Your opinion is invalid.”

“Isn’t it always?”

She tried to mutter it quiet enough so Raven wouldn’t hear, but it didn’t work and Raven swatted her arm. “Rude.” She glared at her, but Clarke only gave her a sweet smile in return.

The cashier perked up as they approached—she was pretty sure his name was Tom, or something similar at least—and his lips split into a wide smile. He was young, and when Clarke gave him a smile in return, though far smaller, the brown of his cheeks blushed a little.

Raven pulled her arm away as Clarke unloaded the pile of clothes, exchanging a couple pleasantries more out of habit than anything. She took a gamble when he asked her how she was, trying a, “I’m good, Tom, and you?” and was relieved to find she’d been right when his eyes widened and he laughed nervously, stuttering out a reply.

As he scanned the clothes he glanced up, offering a polite smile to fill the quiet. “Back so soon, huh?”

Clarke’s hand stilled from where she’d been reaching for her wallet. That anxious buzz that had previously been in the background rose up with a burst of hard panic in her chest, but before she could do or say anything, Raven was sliding up next to her and shot a smirk at him—a smirk that Clarke recognised, and consequently knew that Raven was about to say something incredibly stupid.

“She’s a werewolf. Rips her shit all of time. _Such_ a hassle, you know?”

The self-control it took in that moment, to not spin around and quite literally _kill_ Raven right then and there was something that not even a thousand gold medals could suffice for. She just barely stopped herself from dropping her wallet from the sudden slam of total paralysing _shock_ and _fear_ , but her eyes still snapped to the side to Raven, wide and full of panic.

And _god_ , when Raven just grinned at her she almost snarled—like a real, _you’ve got five seconds to run_ snarl, but then she heard a surprised laugh and her gaze jerked back to the front to see Tom shake his head with a chuckle.

“Right, right, of course. My mistake.” His tone was teasing, and he shot Clarke a wink. “Don’t bite me.”

Clarke gave a nervous laugh, and briefly, wondered if prison was really all that bad. “Don’t listen to her, she’s an idiot.”

Tom didn’t say to anything to that, probably so he couldn’t offend either of them, instead merely chuckling again and finishing off the last of the scanning. Clarke used the opportunity to shoot a _very_ sharp glare at Raven—the closest she could get away with to throttling her in public—but Raven only rolled her eyes.

“Cash or credit?” Tom asked without looking at them, tapping something on the screen, and Clarke mimed a cut at the neck while mouthing _you’re dead_ before glancing back at him.

She waved her card, an anxious knot tightening under her ribs as he took too long to bag everything and hand it over, every part of her now _thrumming_ with the need to get away. She had already been on edge anyway, and it only seemed to worsen the longer she was left standing there, shifting her weight nervously on her feet.

When he was finally finished he handed the bag of clothes over with a smile. “Careful there,” he warned, his tone full of mirth. “My bracelet is silver.”

It was meant to be a joke. She knew that, something light and teasing. But her eyes snapped to the pale bracelet glinting against his wrist, sucking in a sharp breath at realising it actually _was_ silver, how it brushed just close enough to make the hairs prickle up her arm.

She snatched it back fast. Fast enough he blinked, but Clarke was already backing away, instinctive self-preservation surging up at being anywhere even _near_ the proximity of silver. “Yeah, for sure,” she tried her best at a laugh, but even _she_ could hear the strain. She hurriedly threw out, “have a good day,” forcing a smile that he returned, if a little confused, grabbing Raven’s elbow and dragging her out.

“Yeah,” Raven offered a grin at him, tripping over her feet as Clarke hauled her away. “It was good seeing you To—oh _shit_ , ow, ow, ow!—“

Raven didn’t stop hissing the string of yelps until they were well out of the street, Clarke figuring they were finally a safe distance away. She loosened her grip enough that Raven could tear her arm out, which she did, scowling at her and rubbing where Clarke’s hand had been with a wince.

Clarke gave her a one-handed shove anyway, though despite her anger, she made sure to account for the fact that Raven was human. “What the _fuck_ was that, Raven?” she snapped, checking either side of the street with a glance but thankfully seeing no one.

Yet she just seemed more confused than anything at her hostility. “Woah hey, relax Clarke. It was just a joke.”

“A _joke_? That was not a fucking—“

“Okay! So he _thought_ it was a joke,” Raven amended, though Clarke’s glare didn’t waver any less. “The guy _laughed_ , Clarke. He clearly didn’t believe it.”

Clarke stepped closer though, Raven’s words doing nothing to alleviate the burning that was building up in her chest. “And if he does later on? If he actually takes a second to follow the lunar cycle, and note when I turn up at the store?”

Raven just sighed, clicking her tongue and rolling her eyes at her. “He’s not going to do that, Clarke. You’re being paranoid.”

“I’m being _paranoid?_ ”

It was too much. She let the plastic bag of clothes drop to the ground, and only then did Raven seem to finally understand the actual breadth of her anger. Her eyes widened, and suddenly she was backing away, raised her hands like she was warding off an unpredictable animal and not a person.

“There is a literal fucking psycho that’s apparently out to kill me, and you really think I’m being _paranoid_ , about who you out me too? Whether joking or not?”

She moved closer, enough so she was crowding into her space and Raven was backtracking into the wall. Her lip curled higher, and she recognised, distantly at least, that her voice was getting too low and wild.

Raven still kept her hand out, though it hovered just above her chest, not daring enough to actually push. “Okay Clarke, you’re growling,” she said slowly, as if that alone was cause enough for her to let this go. It didn’t help. She hadn’t realised there was something sharp grinding in the back of her throat, but all that pointing it out had down was escalate it and Raven winced. “And you’re getting louder—okay! Okay, seriously, what’s up with you?”

“What’s up with me? Are fucking kidding me Raven?”

Her words came out as a snarl, but Raven kept strangely resolute, and honestly it was a testament to her strength that she didn’t back down. “Yes. I’ve made _far_ worse jokes and you’ve never done this—”

Clarke’s eyes flashed. “This is _different_ , this isn’t—”

“You have endless patience for my antics,” Raven cut her off, ignoring the resounding growl she got in response, ploughing ahead and raising a brow. “You’d have murdered me years ago if I actually frustrated you.”

Clarke gave a sharp scoff at that, but Raven used it to keep going.

“The new moon was last night. You’re the furthest away. You’re not angry at me, this is something else.” Clarke narrowed her eyes, but her growl trailed off, and soon the snarl that had been trapped in her lip was releasing. Raven waved a hand, the one that wasn’t still hovering just in front of her Clarke. “Okay, at least not _solely_ angry at me,” she conceded.

Clarke stared at her and Raven held her breath, the moment tense and stretched like time was a fabric that was straining at the seams, but eventually Clarke was blinking, pulling back, that captive breath escaping as she stepped away from her.

Someone passed them, an older lady who only spared them a curious glance as she stepped around and continued on down the pavement. Clarke’s gaze had averted, something uncomfortable and tight constricting around her lungs, but honestly she couldn’t really tell what was from shame and what was that original anxious discomfort that had been lingering there since she’d woken up.

When she finally did look back up to her, she gave a cautious scent of the air, yet that fear had all but disappeared now and Raven seemed to just be waiting on her. Clarke opened her mouth then closed it, released a breath that came too shaky and ran a nervous hand through her hair.

“I’m… I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to go all…” she paused, not sure there was a word to capture it, and gave up with a vague hand gesture that she hoped got across what she wanted. By the way Raven nodded, she assumed it worked. She cleared her throat. “I was—I’m on edge.” She forced in a steadying breath and bit the bullet. “I’m seeing Lexa today. For the first time since…”

Raven’s frown fell away as the understanding dawned. “Since all the shit went down?”

She dug her nails into her palm in one of her hands, using the sharp sting as something to anchor herself on. Distract from what wanted to rise up and spiral again. She managed a small nod. “Yeah,” she whispered, and gave a sudden shrug. “We’re gonna… if I want a fighting chance I need to get a hang of the whole, turning thing.”

There was a beat of awkward silence, of all the things that needed to be said but never would. And it was like the unspoken was a thing in itself that was burdening the air, making it heavy, dragging it down like cement blocks.

But then Raven was sighing again, glancing away before looking back to her. “I’m… sorry for making the werewolf joke. I can… yeah, in hindsight, probably not the greatest of plans.”

Raven apologising of her own free will without prompt was about as rare and stunning as a once a century meteorite storm, but Clarke knew that it came in the shaky, rocky territory they now stood in—the one unsaid of why it was a struggle to turn, of _Finn_ , of a topic that was dust laden and far too painful to ever be addressed directly.

So Clarke bit back her quip at hearing the rare sorry, instead nodded and played it off like it was casual. “It’s alright. You were a little right anyway, before.” Raven’s brow furrowed slightly, and the smile that Clarke grew was wide and crept on slow. “If the shit you pulled _actually_ pissed me off we’d never have lasted this long.”

Raven laughed and rolled her eyes, and she didn’t seem to notice the tension that leaked out of Clarke’s shoulders and the softening in her features.

“You’re an asshole,” Raven shot back at her, but she was smiling and there was no heat.

“Yeah well,” Clarke stepped away, picked up the bag she’d dropped before. She gave Raven a smirk. “What else is new?”

-

Her nerves followed her like a dog the rest of the morning.

She could probably find Lexa’s house now by muscle memory alone. She figured that the walk could do _something_ to alleviate the ever-present tension that hummed just under her skin like it was the full moon, but it didn’t. She knew they weren’t on hostile terms, but they weren’t exactly on friendly terms either, and the unknown territory that they now had both stumbled into was too much of something to go ignored.

It was all a little too complex, and really, there was this tiny part of her that just wanted to say fuck it and run. To leave, move, to get away from whatever chasm that she stood at the edge over. Swaying and teetering where the slightest nudge of wind could topple her.

But that damn _pull_ kept her. Tugged her along until she was trudging up the all too familiar driveway, grinding her teeth and trying in futile to just pull together any semblance of chill. Clarke sighed. At least it was a nice day today. They were well into the middle of spring now, and despite her unease her shoulders relaxed some at the warmth in the air, the smell of flowers and earth and sunshine.

It was Indra who opened the door. Clarke straightened, but while Indra clenched her jaw, she nodded stiffly and pulled the door open wider. She stepped to the side, her eyes following her as Clarke came through.

Clarke didn’t glance at her as she walked in. She could feel Indra’s stare burning into the back of her head, but she made effort to keep her jaw clenched shut, that nothing sharp and low rumbled in the back of her throat. It must have worked because it wasn’t long after that Clarke heard her steps as she moved away, heading up the stairs.

Her and Lexa had texted. Anything training now was to be done outside, where no doors could be shut and everything was plain to see. Lexa had been hesitant at first—especially since there was still the imperative need to _learn_ to turn as fast as possible—but Clarke gave no room. It was that or nothing. And since Lexa needed her more than the other way round, she caved, and accepted.

Though truly, in Clarke’s mind, she was a little confused as to why. Because in all logic, it really would benefit Lexa more if _she_ were to just take Wanheda for herself to fully ensure that Cage—or _anyone_ really—couldn’t have that amount of power. Sure, she knew that by submitting to Lexa before there was a strange protection she had unintentionally gained, but surely that could be overridden for the sake of her _entire_ people, right?

So, it left Clarke quite confused as to why she was the one that even had the leverage over Lexa.

In any realistic sense, shouldn’t she be dead already?

Her thoughts were interrupted when she walked in the kitchen. Her body had been acting on an autopilot, she had been taking the same route from inside to out she could probably do it in her sleep—but a certain scent drafted by her and abruptly jolted her back to the present.

Clarke slowed to a stop, eyes shifting to the two people occupying the kitchen, sitting close together on stools by the breakfast bar. The moment she came into room she watched as where Lincoln’s hand was on Octavia’s was immediately retracted.

It always threw her off. She knew she should have gotten used to it by now, it had been weeks, and yet it always surprised her and had her gut clenching whenever she caught the scent of the wolf that was now apart of Octavia. It unnerved her every time. Her and Octavia hadn’t really breached the topic yet. They’d hung out, sure, like they always used to, but apart from when she’d eavesdropped on Raven talking with Finn to her—the subject was left untouched, and they ignored it like nothing had changed.

The silence was oppressing and awkward. In the past two weeks, whenever she’d catch a glance at Lincoln she would still always feel a stirring of _something_ inside. An animal type of anger, the primal one, where it somehow hovered in this paradoxical state where she both understood yet was also at a complete loss.

Things could never be easy with her, apparently.

“Hey,” Octavia said, seeming to be the one brave enough to breach the overbearing quiet. “You’re uh… you’re here for Le—Heda, right?”

The slipup made Clarke frown, but when her gaze flicked to Lincoln she saw a small measure of pride there. She understood then. It was another reminder. Octavia was apart of the pack, had to deal with the whole hierarchy and system.

Clarke tried to hide it, but still there was a subtle tension that snuck into her shoulders and her voice.

“Yeah.” She dug her hands into her pockets to stop herself from running her fingers through her hair. “ You’re uh, you’re… settling in okay?”

God, this was awkward. It was almost physically painful.

Octavia shifted on the stool, probably in effort to try to hide her discomfort. Not that it worked. They were all wolves. If the body language alone wasn’t enough, the tight stench of the air between them was guarantee. “Yeah. Lincoln has been helping me a lot.” She briefly turned her head to shoot Lincoln a smile then, and though Clarke could practically smell the tension coming off him in waves, he seemed unable to resist meeting her glance and smiling back at her. Octavia’s lips pulled a little wider before she looked back to Clarke. “Everyone’s been nice and all. Although very stoic.”

Clarke actually chuckled at that. “You’re telling me. It’s like talking to stone sometimes.”

They shared a laugh. It was too tight to call carefree.

Clarke sobered a little and cleared her throat. She noticed that Lincoln had yet to make eye contact with her. “But you… you haven’t had any trouble?”

“Well,” Octavia frowned, but soon she was leaning in as if that somehow made her voice quieter. “The bald guy? Tristan, I think? He’s sort of…”

“A prick?”

The bluntness of her statement made Octavia grin. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“Well,” Clarke waved a hand, shaking her head. “That’s Tristan. Don’t think he can be anything but.”

The heavy silence plagued them again, but just as Clarke was about to sigh and continue on to outside Lincoln was suddenly standing up. Her gaze followed his movement, and she was surprised to see that now Lincoln was staring directly at her. He kept his shoulders low though, docile, and even if Clarke felt her spine rising she forced herself to remain passive.

He bowed his head slightly. “If it is acceptable, Clarke, I wish to speak with you.”

She hadn’t heard him so formal before. Octavia mustn’t have either, because she glanced up at him with a frown that Clarke echoed.

“What of?” Clarke asked, slightly wary now. Lincoln held her gaze steady.

“I wish to speak it only with you.”

Her eyes shifted to Octavia’s for a beat, but she seemed as confused as she was. Clarke spent a moment to take him in. There wasn’t anything hostile in his voice or posture like Tristan, nothing sharp waiting on the edge of his tongue. And Lincoln had proved to be a genuine man since she’d first met him. Even if there _was_ a bitter resentment aimed at him, Clarke reminded herself it wasn’t the full moon, and that she sure as hell wasn’t going to be dictated by some ancient beast that had hijacked her by unlucky chance.

“Alright.” She tilted her head. “Outside, then?”

He nodded and started out of the kitchen. Clarke went for the door, though when she opened it she paused a second and caught a moment she didn’t think she was meant to witness—she saw Lincoln hesitate, glance back at Octavia. His hand brushed her shoulder in a comforting gesture, and she was startled to see it worked. Octavia relaxed, something quiet but real tugging at her lips.

They went outside. Drifted a good few paces out so they’d have some attempt at privacy. She wasn’t worried for Lincoln to use the opportunity to try something, one, because it didn’t seem anything even close to his nature, and two, though he at least met her eyes before, there was still a noticeable submission to his bearing. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but the strain eased from her neck and she was grateful.

“So?” Clarke asked, once they’d stopped walking. Lincoln swallowed before he eventually spoke up.

“I come to ask of your forgiveness.”

His voice was sure, though it was soft it held no traces to deceive. Clarke blinked slowly, having not expected the proclamation at all, and so for a moment she was left to just stand there and stare at him.

When she didn’t immediately say anything, Lincoln went on. “I understand that Octavia was your pack. Though she was human, she… she was known to be of yours.” His words had her tensing, and even if she wasn’t really quite sure why, Lincoln must have because he bowed his head slightly and revealed his hands. A peaceful gesture, one to placate the animal, not the human. “I mean no disrespect. But she was your pack, wasn’t she?”

Clarke watched him carefully. “She was.” She replied slowly, narrowing her eyes. While she might not have not known it at the time, she knew she had been. Octavia, Raven even _Wells_ to some degree, there was this instinct of loyalty to them. She might not trust her wolf entirely when she was turned and her conscience held no influence, but when her body was human, when its instincts blended with hers she was left with that intense primal declaration of family. Of a pack.

Maybe that was why she had reacted so impulsively that full moon. Her wolf too close and too near. It was one of those very rare instances in which the line between them became just that bit blurred. It wasn’t just Clarke feeling that loss. Her wolf felt it too.

“But she’s not anymore.” Clarke ground her teeth, though she made sure her fingers were loose. “You bit her.”

He must have heard the unspoken question in her tone, the traces of confusion. Lincoln nodded. “She was bitten by Trikru, met with Trikru blood. I was the one that bit her. But it was not intentional, I _swear_ to you Clarke, I truly never wished for this. It was my mistake, she had… she had been meaning to help me, and I did something inexcusable in return.”

There was genuine remorse in her words, something that felt too real to be faked. If he was, he would have to be an _incredible_ liar, because when Clarke listened to his heart and his breathing there was nothing that gave away falsehood to his voice. Lincoln paused a beat, as if waiting to see if Clarke would stop him, to react, bare her teeth or snarl or _something_.

Clarke stood still and waited. Lincoln blinked, like he hadn’t been expecting to get this far.

“I do not know if it matters that it was an accident,” he continued, a little cautious now, treading unfamiliar ground he never thought he’d make it to. “If that changes the light of my actions. I know that it does not change what I have done. But still I wish… I wish for no ill blood between us.” Lincoln pulled in a breath, seeming to ready himself before finishing. “You care for her. I care for her too.”

Clarke’s face remained blank and wary, but she felt something unnameable within her relax. “You really had no intention to hurt her, did you?” she muttered, her voice soft now, the tight string of tension in the air easing slightly.

“No.” Lincoln answered almost immediately. Clarke’s brow ticked up, and though it felt like such a comical contradiction to what he was he appeared sheepish. “No,” he said again, quieter and slower this time. “I know it does not excuse, and I am not asking you to, but I was weak, injured, it was the full moon… when I shifted I had to fight to regain my mind.”

Clarke swallowed, purposefully ignoring just how familiar this was beginning to feel. “You want my forgiveness for what you’ve done?”

Lincoln nodded, his gaze not shifting from her. “She was your pack.” He said it like it answered everything. “I know she is important to you. Octavia is special but I cannot… I want to help her, but I cannot do that if I am in ill will with her alpha.”

Clarke shifted on her feet, uncomfortable and unfamiliar with the weight of a title such as that being placed on her. “I’m not… I wasn’t that. Not her alpha.”

Lincoln frowned. He opened his mouth as if to question it further, as it seemed he was genuinely confused, but at the noticing the hardening in Clarke’s eyes he seemed to accept it was not his place.

Clarke let her shoulders fall though. A sigh fell out of her, tired but knowing. “I believe you Lincoln. And I’m not forgetting how you’re one of the few people in this pack to show me actual acceptance.” She thought of Tristan and his sneers, the sharp, ever-following eyes of Quint. And then Lincoln, when he had first welcomed her, aided her, and unlike his packmates, never once showed aggression against her. “I can let it go.”

Relief flooded across him. His shoulders fell, the tension and stress bleeding from his body. He smiled at her, real and genuine.

“But.” Her voice dropped then, became lower, colder. Full of warning and threat. “It was _you_ who brought her into this word. If she is killed, it is on you, and I will hold you responsible.”

He did something then she wasn’t expecting.

Lincoln dropped down onto one knee. He bowed his head so he was looking down, such an unthinkable outright sign of trust and respect for a moment she couldn’t even speak.

“I swear to protect and defend her, as if she were my kin.”

Clarke stared him, trying very hard to refrain from letting her eyes blow wide and her jaw drop. Instead she blinked, waiting until the surprise and shock had faded and instead she focused on Lincoln—on the exact tone, the inflections in his voice, the beat of his heart and pace of his breaths.

No. Not even those masterful in deceiving could lie like this. That _warmth_ in that tone, that true devotion: that was not something so easily faked.

For a moment, for some reason, it reminded her so in explicably of Lexa.

“Then it looks like we won’t be having any problems.” He looked up at her affirmation, and finally, she allowed herself to smile. She hadn’t realised how much the residual turmoil over Octavia’s turning had been weighing on her until she felt the load slide off her shoulders. Lincoln stood up, and when he offered his arm, Clarke took it.

“Thank you,” he whispered, gripping her forearm tightly. He nodded and Clarke returned it. He let go of her arm, and with one last parting, relieved smile, he left and headed back inside.

Clarke stood still for a moment. There was a soft breeze that drifted aimlessly over her, a little warmer now that spring was beginning to truly settle in, and though her thoughts were playing elsewhere—trying to process the unexpected pledge—she still caught the traces of freshly sawed wood and the sharp, almost sweet scent of pine. The hint of something underneath unidentifiable, yet still she could pick out within a collection of thousands.

She didn’t glance at her as Lexa came up to stand next to her, her hands held loosely behind her back. “Lincoln is a good man.” She said, and only then did Clarke look at her. Lexa kept staring out to where he had left. “I have known him for many years. He has always been honourable.”

“Why did he kneel?”

Lexa turned her head to meet her eyes. Clarke let herself look her over, and realised that she must have been training while she was talking with him. She wore a thin grey zip up hoodie, shorts that revealed defined enough legs Clarke resolutely kept her gaze firmly up.

“He sees you as Octavia’s alpha. He had attacked your own, so far as to become her sire and rip her pack from you.” Though Lexa’s voice was quiet, it was gravely serious, and it took Clarke a moment to realise she was not being talked to like she was a pupil. But like she was an equal. Lexa shrugged. “We have a saying: _jus drein jus daun._ Blood must have blood. It has been our way for a very long time.”

Lexa glanced at her in a way she couldn’t read. Like she was something you could only catch a glimpse of once in a century.

Lexa observed her closely, and when she spoke though her tone was thoughtful, it was also of respect. “You have granted a mercy few give. You had right to ask for blood in return. He kneeled because he knows this, his way of showing respect and acknowledgment to you. You could have called for his life. For his blood. You did not.”

Clarke couldn’t take the intensity in her gaze, in what almost came across as pride. She looked away and shook her head. “It was an accident. It would be unfair to demand retribution for something he wasn’t even in control for. It wasn’t like he wanted it.”

Lexa was silent for a few beats.

“You don’t believe he is at fault?” she eventually asked, and this time Clarke couldn’t make out what was in her voice.

She frowned. “No, I… I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s not exactly clear-cut. He didn’t _want_ it, that much I believe.”

“Do you believe that calls for forgiveness?”

Clarke glanced at her. Lexa was focused only on her, and it was beginning to feel like her words were weighed in double-meanings, an entire other conversation hidden between the gaps. “I don’t know,” she said, a little wary now. “He never meant it, it’d be unfair to just condemn him completely over something he couldn’t stop.”

Lexa was still watching her, but her eyes were so much softer now. She nodded. “You believe his word he won’t hurt Octavia again?”

“The guy knelt at my feet, Lexa. It’s obvious he regrets it.”

“And that means something?”

Clarke swallowed. “Yeah.” She had to blink a few times before continuing, rallying to keep her voice steady and unaffected. Lexa was looking at her like she knew. “He didn’t want it. Some things are out of your control.”

Lexa held her stare. “Some things can hold no blame.” She agreed quietly.

It was pretty obvious they weren’t talking about Lincoln anymore. Clarke desperately wanted to tear her gaze away, because Lexa’s eyes were too enticing, too real—too soft and warm and gentle and _completely_ the type the thing you fell into and never came back out of.

She managed it. Barely. Pulled in a shaky breath and looked away. “So uh, you had an idea right? For this whole… turning thing.”

She didn’t need to look at her to know she was frowning. But Lexa seemed to just push past it. She sighed, yet continued on and let Clarke change the subject. “Yes. But first we will train. Have you been keeping up?”

Clarke shrugged. “Does a few push ups count?”

Lexa gave her a glare that reminded her a little too much of her teachers in high school. “No.” It looked like she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She seemed to settle on sighing. Clarke noticed she did that a lot. “We will spar then to warm up. See what you remember.”

Clarke heaved a sigh too, resigning herself to what was most likely going to be a very humiliating and painful few rounds. She had a feeling Lexa was going to wipe the floor with her as a reminder that, apparently, taking days off was not acceptable. Her brow furrowed, and she was about to say something on it when Lexa causally slipped her hoodie off and rolled her shoulders.

She had seen it before. It wasn’t exactly something new. But it had been more than a week since she’d last trained with her and she had somehow managed to forget—though really Clarke was beginning to wonder how in the _hell_ she had—the shape of the black tribal tattoo that banded her arm, the way it wrapped around the defined muscle. Suffice to say, the insults were quick to die in her throat. Her _dry_ throat.

Lexa must have noticed her staring, because she raised her arm and glanced at the ink. “I got this the day after my first turning.” She explained, her gaze flicking up to eye her like she wasn’t quite sure why Clarke was staring at it. “It marks me as Trikru.”

Clarke blinked and was suddenly incredibly grateful that she seemed to mistake her gawking for curiosity. “Right,” she said, forcefully bringing her eyes back up to meet Lexa’s. She wasn’t sure whether it was an improvement or not. Clarke cleared her throat. “When was that?”

“I was fifteen.” Lexa paused a moment, before she nodded in the direction in the house and continued. “Gustus did it.”

It was said so off-handily, but Clarke let out a surprised burst of laughter at the admission. “Seriously? The guy who looks like he could wrestle a bear and win, _he_ did that for you?”

Lexa’s lips pulled into a rare smile. “He is quite artistic. You would get along well.”

It was annoying how Clarke’s lips were tugging into a smile too. There was something that softened in Lexa’s eyes at seeing it, but then she was stepping back and clearing her throat like Clarke had before, features soon becoming serious and settling into the expression Clarke could paint with her eyes closed.

And damn her, how she’d made the foolish mistake of connecting their sights and now she was left trying to seek out her eyes once more, when before she’d been doing anything but. She got that feeling again. Like standing at a cliff edge and cautiously leaning over, trying to see just how far down it went.

But really, if you knew you’d be caught, so what if you fell?

-

“We’ve been doing this for like an hour Lexa, can we just leave it for today?”

Lexa sighed from where she sat in front of her. She was cross-legged, as was Clarke, and when she opened her eyes she saw Lexa glaring at her. “Not yet.”

“We’re not getting anywhere, Lexa. What’s the point? Can’t we just—”

“The _point_ is the safety of your life and everyone else’s.” Lexa cut off, her voice sharp enough that Clarke forced herself to bite her tongue to stop the responding sarcastic comment. Well, mostly stopped. She had been sitting in the same spot on the ground for what was coming up to an hour now, eyes shut and trying, yet failing, to delve into some ancient method of werewolf meditation that Lexa was attempting to guide her into. Of course she was getting frustrated.

It was the compromise. Less violent, more gentle. But it also took longer, it was something meant to be trained and developed into over time, in hours of practice that, ideally, would be spread over months, even _years_. Too long to ever be done for fast answers.

It took time. The one thing they didn’t have.

“You’re being a little dramatic,” Clarke murmured.

Lexa sighed again. Clarke was considering whether she should start tallying when the sound was made.

“There are some wolves who are never able to accomplish this, Clarke. A single hour of practice is not enough.”

“Then why bother at all?”

Lexa eyed her very closely, and Clarke had the sudden urge to retreat into herself. A tense silence fell between them—it stretched on the longer they both watched each other—the answer both obvious and known, yet never making it off either of their tongues. Clarke swallowed and looked away. She heard Lexa pull in a careful breath.

“Do you know the easiest way to turn, bar the full moon?”

Clarke met sights again at the unexpected question. Her brow creased. “You said it was anger.”

Lexa nodded, some tension leaking out of her shoulders at realising Clarke had remembered what she’d mentioned two weeks ago. “Yes, anger and pain. And while they are effective, it does not mean it is guaranteed. The wolf is something that needs to be released. It is an integral part of you, as of you are of it.” Lexa paused, letting the words sink in, before continuing. Clarke could feel the gentle playing’s of the wind brush against her skin. “The full moon alone is not enough. You should be shifting at least once a week, to restrain it and deny it to the point you have…”

She felt a familiar anger flaring up in her. Lexa must have sensed it though, the stiffening at her back, because she raised a hand to reveal an open palm. A placating gesture.

“I acknowledge your reasoning, Clarke. That I will never criticise.” She held her gaze steady, her voice softening into something Clarke rarely heard. Gentle, sincere, and holding a painful amount of understanding that she suspected to be rooted into something far deeper than known. “But you have to understand it generated a fear. There was fear that for so long you had restrained yourself, that you could never be taught to control your shifting. It couldn’t be provoked, it couldn’t be made. You would always be in a state of vulnerability that couldn’t be afforded. You never learnt how to _truly_ control it, and that unpredictability was dangerous.”

Her pulse started to quicken at Lexa’s admission, at the rare level of honesty she was being met with. It probably should have warranted nothing more than a second glance at best, but it felt significant somehow. Like finding a perfectly intact shell by the beach, though it should mean nothing, it will always be pocketed and hold a strange importance that is unexplainable.

The corner of Lexa’s lip curved up then, and Clarke couldn’t help but marvel at it. “But you proved the fear unnecessary. What we’re doing Clarke, though it is difficult, it _can_ be done.”

There was that niggling question again in the back of her mind. Clarke tore her gaze away, glanced around the woods surrounding them. They were far enough away from the house that they couldn’t be overheard, but in enough she had little fear of being trapped again. She looked up at hearing a bird chirping. Almost smiled at seeing a tiny orange-bellied robin perched atop a straggly branch.

Clarke brought her gaze back to her. She swallowed, and decided to breach the thought she hadn’t been able to rid of. “Would you have done it?” she asked, and her voice was low and quiet, shaking just slight enough she knew Lexa had heard.

Lexa’s brow twitched. “Done what?”

“If it hadn’t of worked. If… I hadn’t shifted, hadn’t turned. If it really was too late or whatever.” She knew Lexa had caught on to her meaning when she went completely still. Clarke forced herself to hold her eye. “Would you have taken it for yourself?”

Lexa was silent a while before answering. “It doesn’t matter.” She said, and if Clarke hadn’t have been focusing on her so intensely—the rate of her heart, the fill of her lungs, even the mere twitch of a finger—she might have missed the trip in her pulse and breath. “You shifted.”

“But if I hadn’t?”

“You did.”

Clarke exhaled a frustrated breath. “Lexa. If you really want to do this, whatever… this is, then you’re going to have to be honest with me. We can’t just keep avoiding and holding back. You want to keep me safe, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

The immediacy of her answer made Clarke falter despite herself, and for moment she struggled to keep her thoughts in her order, especially when she saw that Lexa held no shame and her voice was absolutely certain like any other response was irrelevant.

“Well,” Clarke went on, ignoring how her heart was speeding up in her chest at seeing Lexa not wavering. “How can I trust you, trust _anyone_ to keep me safe if they’re never honest with me?”

Lexa frowned. She clenched her jaw, averting her gaze. Clarke merely waited, letting the silence be filled with the rustle of the leaves and the robin’s still persistent singing, until finally Lexa’s eyes flicked up to meet hers again.

She pulled in a deep breath before replying, her voice so quiet Clarke had to lean forward a little. “I don’t know.” Lexa’s hand that been resting on her thigh curled in until her nails were digging into her palm. “I don’t know. I would… I would do anything necessary for my people. I have been raised to do so. But you…”

There was a moment where Clarke thought she’d say it. To admit whatever had spawned between them, the quiet tether that had snuck in when neither were watching and tied them to each other. Lexa’s eyes flicked between hers, her mouth opened, but then like always it shut and she swallowed and Clarke tried to ignore the falling in her stomach.

“I don’t know.” Lexa settled on, retreating before her very eyes. “If you want my honesty, I do not know.”

It was what she had wanted, or should have wanted. Freely given honesty. Clarke nodded, accepting it, knowing it really _was_ a step towards something new and stronger and she should be grateful for it. It didn’t mean she stopped wondering though, of how long they could go before the water rose up to their necks and acting as if the ship wasn’t sinking would mean it wouldn’t.

“Go through it again.”

Lexa blinked at Clarke’s request, but soon she was straightening her posture and relaxing her hands again. She spread them out, loosely held her thighs. Clarke mimicked. “This is ancient, it is something you know, but only once you find it. Breathe, slowly. Close your eyes. Focus. You must let go of your fear. Your fear is restraining you, holding you back. Accept it, do not fight.”

Clarke listened. She clenched her eyes shut, tried focusing on inside, of below the skin and beneath the soul. She felt nothing. She huffed in frustration and opened her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” She muttered with a frown.

Lexa was still watching her. She took a moment, eyes narrowed as she seemed to think something over, before nodding. “The last full moon, when you… came to the pack. You held it off. When the moon rose, and the shifting started, you held it back.” Clarke tilted her head slightly, trying to follow along onto Lexa’s train of thought. “How do you do that? What do you do?”

Clarke paused. “I just… pull it back. I can feel it.”

“Where?” Lexa pushed, and Clarke started to understand where Lexa was going with this. Her frown deepened.

Where _did_ she feel it? She’d spent the entirety of her three years being turned learning how to rein it in as close as possible, refusing to let even an ounce slip through, so when the moon came it was always sudden and like the feverish breaking of chains in the bolt for rare offered freedom.

Lexa’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. “Think of it as a door. You have locked it, caged it, and never given it escape. To do this… you must accept, that it might break out, that you might turn.”

Her heart rate seemed to spike on instinct alone. “I’m not ready for that.”

“I know,” Lexa assured, her tone and face soft, and for a moment Clarke forgot of any tension still lingering between them. “I know. And you don’t have to. But you must accept the _possibility_. Ease it open, carefully. Retreat to where you and the wolf intercept. You must relax, Clarke. You are not alone in this.”

She had to blink a few times to rid the burning that wanted to take over her eyes. Even just the idea alone of accepting the possibility of it was unsettling, but she thought of before, of shifting back in the woods and seeing Lexa there free of any injury or wounds. She nodded, and even if it was a little too stiff and unsteady, Lexa returned the gesture and held her stare.

“Again.” Her voice remained soft, and Clarke tried to take comfort in it. “Close your eyes.”

She took in a deep breath and obeyed. She tried to recall that feeling on the full moon. When it came too early and she wasn’t in time, the sensation of _dragging_ it back like a misbehaving dog, until like always it grew too restless and too violent and broke free of her grip. A door. Lexa had said to visualise a door. Her shoulders and rose and fell with the depth of her exhale, and she let herself fall in.

Putting aside the fear was terrifying in itself. It had made a sturdy home within her ribs, and to take apart its bricks and let it unfurl was something she’d never thought she would have to do. But she focused on breathing, on within, until her perception of reality had folded inwards and narrowed to only her own heartbeat.

She found something. She could only hear her beating pulse, steady but slowing, slowing, slowing, until it was a heavy languid thud in her ears. She felt something then, a barrier or a weight, but the sudden burst of excitement at almost _succeeding_ threw her off and it slipped from her.

“Don’t lose focus.” Lexa’s voice came through. It was the strange teacher’s contradiction like it always was, gentle but stern. “Fall into it, do not force it.”

She tried to hold onto that sensation of the full moon. Focused everything on it. When everything slowed again, and reality became a little less real, she found it again. It was blurry and out of focus like trying to make out the features of someone stood against the full glare of the sun, but she tried to hold onto it. Like when she was in that forest, when she’d been out within the trees and felt that happiness bleed through the wall between them.

The fear had always been overwhelming, but Clarke reminded herself that it was Lexa sat in front of her. Her promise for change had felt earnest, and she was proving it now. Lexa always brought this sense of ease in her presence and Clarke was relieved to feel it once more.

She didn’t know how much time had passed until it happened. Everything felt slower, muted, running at a separate pace. She felt herself brush against something inside, the barrier between, the wall constantly pressed and clawed at in desperate attempts of liberty. Breaching it was something never done but Clarke wasn’t one to back down from challenge. She tried to do as Lexa said, a door, to ease it so it only creaked open and a sliver slipped through and free.

This was her mistake.

Because the absolute second a shred of control was relinquished, the door was not eased open but _slammed._

The burst of pain was sudden and hard in her chest. Her eyes snapped open with a strangled gasp and they were yellow, and it was too _intense_ and too _real_ and too _much_. Agony rippled down her spine almost immediately like her wolf didn’t know how long it had and so it rushed and burned through her as fast and violent as it could.

“Lexa, fuck, I can’t, I can’t—”

She burst to her feet. Stumbled back into a tree and curled over. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t _ready_ but it wouldn’t stop and it wouldn’t relent and for a breath she felt the echo of betrayal she’d felt before. It pulsed through her with the pain, a brutal stab at her gut that had her crying out. This wasn’t supposed to happen, she had told her, she had _told_ her, she had sworn but—

“ _Shit_. Clarke hey, hey, look at me. _Look_ at me.”

Hands grabbed her shoulders. They pulled her up and when she resisted she didn’t know why. She snarled, too loud and too _animal_ but the hands didn’t move and only gripped tighter, harder, and eventually they won and Clarke was pushed back up into a tree. Another stab came at her stomach, her chest, her body jerking roughly but she forced open her eyes to see Lexa staring at her. Holding her in place.

“Focus on me.” She said, the words deliberate and slow. Clarke snarled again and tried to break free of her grip but Lexa was _strong_ and didn’t budge. “ _Clarke_. Breathe, look at me. It will pass. It will pass.”

Lexa’s eyes were bright, wide but intense, constantly flicking between her own. She tried to listen but when she attempted to breathe it already felt like she was choking. She bit down a scream on her tongue when another burst of agony ripped through her, throwing her head back and feeling her back arch. Dimly, she tried to do what she always did, to pull it back and in but that invisible line of control had been crossed. Her wolf was already burning its way through her blood. It had sunk its claws in and she knew it was pointless to try stop it now, the opportunity long missed.

She heard Lexa swear again, and just before she resigned herself to the pain and defeat, suddenly there was a hand behind her neck pulling her forward. She forced open her eyes, panting so hard and fast her lungs burned, an echo of the torture tearing into her bones—but Clarke felt something in her shift when Lexa was so close now, only a handful of inches away from foreheads meeting each other.

“Focus on me. You don’t have to turn. Your wolf is scared. Ignore everything else, not the pain, not you, not _nothing_.” Another spike of pain went through her. She tried to turn away, to break free of Lexa’s grip and proximity but then she stepped _closer_ , made it so they were eye to eye. “Listen to my heart. Can you hear my breathing?”

Her wolf was still trying to rip her apart. There was a sharp piercing pain in her nails, in the joints in her fingers, and she had no doubt they were starting to shift. But miraculously, Clarke felt a fragment of _something_ come through. She was still struggling to breathe and to feel but she tried to do as she said. To find the dull thud in her chest.

It wasn’t working. Lexa must have realised, because then Clarke felt her hand being grasped and pulled up. Lexa directed it against her own chest, just over where her heart would be, and instinctually Clarke’s fingers curled until she was grabbing a desperate fistful of the fabric. Her shirt was thin and soft. She could feel the heat from her skin bleeding through.

Lexa placed her hand over Clarke’s own still clutching her shirt.

“Feel it. Focus on it. Match my rhythm, Clarke. Focus.”

She did. She pushed her palm in a little further, and through it felt the persistent pulse beat into her hand. Her eyes, still yellow, snapped up to meet Lexa’s own. Lexa nodded at her, and Clarke had no idea how she was keeping her heart rate so calm and steady when she was quite literally about to shift in her own damn backyard.

But Clarke focused on the thump against her hand. She stared at Lexa, and like the first time she’d met her, she felt an echo of that calm come through. Of the surreal sensation of a settling deep down. She felt Lexa’s fingers wrap around hers tighter, as if to call attention and to remind her.

“Breathe with me,” Lexa whispered, their faces so close now, and Clarke didn’t realise her breaths were easing out until she suddenly realised she wasn’t panting anymore. Her nails stopped stinging like someone was pushing a needle through them. That burning, that fury in her bones and muscle began to retract, and for moment the only thing Clarke could think of was the image of tides growing bored, tiredly yet surely pulling its reach back from the shore.

She had never felt it before, because for the first time since being bitten she felt the process come from the other way around. Focused on Lexa and the beat of her heart, of an anchor back into present and reality, she felt the unreal sensation of her wolf being the one to retreat.

Lexa kept guiding her. Her voice never rising above a whisper but still firm and resolved. She slowed her breathing, Clarke mimicked it, until no longer was she choking and her lungs weren’t constricted and tight.

But Clarke only focused on one thing.

She focused on the woman in front of her. On the shade and inflections in her eyes, the particular green something she’d seen once and never forgotten. It fell away really, all of it, and the feeling of Lexa’s heartbeat through her hand, the warmth of her shirt was the most steadying thing she’d ever felt. Lexa’s forehead was almost pressing with hers. If she wanted, she’d only have to lean the slightest bit forward.

In all honesty, Clarke found that she couldn’t really blame her wolf from retreating when faced with someone like _Lexa_. She could ask her to follow her into hell and she would without question.

Lexa’s hand shifted from behind her neck to her jaw. “You’re alright,” she breathed, her voice still soft and reassuring. “You’re okay.”

Clarke blinked slowly, until while still watching Lexa, the bright gold finally slipped out of her iris to reveal blue.

Lexa smiled.

“Hey,” Lexa whispered, her tone delicate but relieved. Clarke lifted the hand not still holding to Lexa and looked over her fingers, flipping her palm over back and forth and eyeing the joints.

Nothing. Completely human.

She was overwhelmed with something she couldn’t name. It was a confusing chaotic mess of emotion, of too many things overlapping and breaking through. Of such a sheer flood of _relief_ , of joy, of surprise and shock but also of this devastating aguish, of grief and pain.

Her eyes welled up. A sob broke of out her before she could stop it, making her body shake but before she could anything—try to pull _away_ , to hide her face and her breaking—she was all of sudden pulled into a tight embrace. Clarke buried her face into Lexa’s neck and screwed her eyes shut. She held her so tight she was sure there would be hand-shaped bruises left on Lexa’s skin, but she met no resistance.

“You did it, you did it _ai tombom_ ,” Lexa was murmuring into her hair. Her hand came up and cradled the back of Clarke’s head. “You’re okay. It’s gone. It’s over. You’re okay.”

She was crying. Everything felt too much. It was without thinking that she found her nose drawn to the crook of her neck and she breathed deep at the scent there, at the one that always made her shoulders slack and her body sink into her with no thought. Lexa kept murmuring’s soothing nothing’s in her ear. Warm, soft breaths that got tangled in her hair and in her soul.

“I’m sorry,” she was saying, holding her tighter. A shuddered breath hit the skin of Clarke’s neck. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think you could do it, that this would happen. I wouldn’t if I had. You’re incredible Clarke, you’re _incredible_.”

She couldn’t say anything. Only nodded into her neck.

They stood there, clutching each other so tight there felt little point to wonder if they were two separate bodies at all. She had never felt it before, her wolf _retreat,_ her wolf _leave_. Like it knew or it realised the pain it caused, Lexa’ s request, and who could ever say no to someone like her?

For the first time in years, Clarke felt she was her own.

-

“So, any bloodshed?”

Clarke looked up from where she sat on the couch, one knee propped up as she only half watched whatever was on TV. “What?” she called back, watching as Raven shut the door and shucked her jacket off. After taking off her shoes—and ignoring Clarke’s glare where she’d just unceremoniously chucked them into a corner—she turned around and approached her, an eyebrow raised high.

“You saw you-know-who today, didn’t you?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Funny.”

“I always am.”

Raven jumped over the arm of the couch with a barely voiced warning of _heads_ , though Clarke really thought the only reason she managed to jump back in time to avoid a collision was through werewolf reflexes alone. She shot her another glare but Raven only grinned unapologetically.

“So?”

“It… was fine. No bloodshed.”

Raven gave her a dubious look. “Really? That’s it?”

Clarke huffed. “There’s nothing else to say. It was fine. We didn’t… it helped, or whatever. We’re good.”

Some of the mischief leaked out of her expression. “It helped?” she repeated, but her voice was lower now.

Clarke shifted, suddenly uncomfortable and overcome with the urge to fidget. “Yeah.” She focused back on the TV, not able to hold her gaze. Raven didn’t push it this time.

It was silent between them for a while, the only sound coming from the muttering of the TV.

“So… I can call off the hit squad then?”

Clarke laughed, shooting her a look before pushing her with one hand. “My god, Rae. Relax.”

Raven only grinned. “What? Ride or die dude.”

“Sure. Whatever Raven.”

Quiet again. But this one only lasted a handful of seconds.

“We’re still on for this weekend?”

Clarke hummed.

Raven glanced behind her into kitchen, drawing Clarke’s attention back to her. She turned back to face her with that same smirk that would mostly likely be the thing to get her killed one day. “You haven’t cooked anything.”

Clarke raised her brow. “So? We have leftovers.”

“I’m just saying…” Raven gave a dramatic, weary sigh, as if she hadn’t seen daylight in weeks and had been slaving away for every moment of her life. “It would be _nice_ to come home to a hot meal.”

Clarke hit her again, but Raven must have been expecting it because she managed to swerve out of its range. “ _Seriously_ Raven? Am I your housewife now?”

“Well,” Raven’s smirk dipped into a sly smile. “I _am_ the main breadwinner of this family.”

Clarke stared at her a moment. “Has anyone ever told you how incredibly irritating you are?”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice.”

Clarke decided she was going to shave Raven’s head in her sleep.

-

Quint eyed the looming facility from the parking lot. It had been almost a month since she’d come and threatened the pack on the full moon, finally proved that she was more than just a nuisance, but a danger. Three weeks of waiting. Of being able to do nothing but sit and stare and act like he, too, was blind to the peril they were all in. He sat low in his car, and at hearing a dull ring come from his phone he picked it up off the dashboard. He briefly took a glance up into the sky, noticing the coming dark. He would have to move soon.

It stopped ringing and Quint answered before they could say anything. “I’m ready.”

There was a pause across the line. “You remember the plan?”

“ _Sha_.”

“Get moving then.”

-

It was a rare moment of calm she found herself in as she drew.

She was sat on the kitchen counter, one leg hanging off and the other bent at the knee, propped up enough so it could serve as a surface to rest her sketchbook against. A pan was sizzling next to her—far enough so that nothing could spit out and hit the paper, but close enough that Clarke could vaguely hear her mother’s imaginary scolding in the back of her mind—the apartment smelling of mince and garlic and tomato and _entirely_ enticing enough that she’d snuck more than one too hot a bite of.

Her tongue was still a little burnt.

Some random movie was playing on the TV. It served as an easy white noise, background chatter of nothing that required more than a glance at the screen to understand. She was pretty sure it was a rom-com. Something to do with a wedding. Her eyes flicked up when there was a panicked yelp from the screen, and she listened to see that she’d been right—the bridesmaids were panicking, as one of them had tried on the wedding dress but had accidently torn it in taking it off. They were all yelling at each other, and Clarke found herself cracking a smile.

Her eyes fell back to her sketchbook and she sobered some. She made an adjustment on the hind leg. Made it darker so it gave better form, almost swallowed by the shadows that crowded in from behind. The full moon was up in the corner, offering a sharp strip of light that left the night to nag uselessly at the sides, as the moon’s spotlight eliminated the dark. The trees in the background were almost invisible against the already near black skies, but bounding in front of them, lean muscle stretched and fur frozen mid flow, was a wolf.

Was Lexa.

Only she could tell. There was no sign really, that gave away who the animal was. The wolf was big, yes, was clearly a _werewolf_ in that aspect—but which werewolf, of who, that was something only Clarke could see.

It was in the grace of it. Of the still frame chosen with her caught mid-run. The fur fluttering, speeds too fast and overwhelming that it was inevitable the wind was grabbing fistfuls of it. There was a special beauty it. Something unnameable, intangible; like that ache in her chest when she found herself staring for a little too long at her, as if it hurt, like it _physically_ hurt to have so much swelling in her heart that had nowhere else to go.

That was how she knew it was Lexa.

Her phone went off. Her head snapped up, having to blink a couple times to come back, but soon she was slipping off the counter and onto her feet, mindlessly closing the sketchbook and setting it off to the side. Her phone was placed on the other side of the stove, and Clarke gave a quick check of the sauce as she passed—she paused a moment, increased the heat just slightly so the temperature from the electronic stove brightened—before reaching out and checking the screen.

Her shoulders slumped. A part of had been hoping it was a text from a Raven. It was only a reminder for her data though. She had used up half of it.

“Damn,” she muttered out loud, giving a quick check to her messages with Raven but seeing nothing new. The last thing sent was just Clarke letting her know she’d started on dinner. Raven had told her she was working late tonight, coming back seven instead of six, but Clarke’s question of _do you want me to keep a plate warm for you?_ was left unanswered.

It was eight-twenty now.

She was probably overthinking it. It certainly wasn’t in the rare for Raven. When she got taken with something she got _taken_ , in a state impossible to be pulled out of by anyone but herself. It was nothing, it had happened before; but still there was something she didn’t like. A coldness. A tightening. Dense in her stomach and persistent at the corners of her mind. She didn’t know _why_ it was there, but it was like hearing someone speak yet not being able to make out the words.

She knew there was _something_ , but she had no idea what.

It was most likely just traffic anyway. She’d probably gotten caught up. Clarke put her phone back down and drifted to her sketchbook, and she’d only just picked up her pencil again when she caught the sound of approaching footsteps from outside. She’d deliberately left the TV on a low volume—which, considering she had a canine’s hearing, just barely rose above being muted—and it meant when she caught the familiar sounds of the thud of steps, that tension bled from her back and she released the breath she didn’t realise had caught.

She slipped the pencil just atop her ear, grabbed the wooden spoon she’d used to mix the sauce before and gave the pan a cautionary stir, scooping up a small amount just enough for a taste—again seeming to miscalculate the heat and, though she’d deny it till her grave, yelping when too much got on her tongue. Honestly a part of her was relieved Raven hadn’t yet come in, because the absolute dragging she would have gotten had she’d been there to witness was something she was grateful to avoid.

The doorknob rattled. Clarke figured it needed a couple more minutes and it was done. She set the spoon down off to the side, next to a dirty fork that she should have probably been put in the sink, and at hearing the rattling of the doorknob get even _louder_ she rolled her eyes. How many times could that woman lose her damn keys? They had _just_ gotten the door fixed too. The lock was new. How could she have seriously already lost the new key?

She was already shaking her head, preparing herself for a snarky remark when there was metallic _crack_ followed by a sharp splinter like the snap of wood. Clarke frowned, and that weight in her stomach suddenly became like gravity had grown bored and had snared her insides, dragging them down in one hard and rough _pull_.

The door swung open. Clarke rounded the kitchen, and already she could hear the steps were too heavy and the scent—the fucking _scent_ —that suddenly hit her had her shoulders immediately rising, a harsh, animal snarl reverberating right in the back of her throat like a thunderclap.

Tristan kicked the door closed from behind with his foot. Not that it mattered much. He had clearly wrenched the doorknob hard enough the lock snapped.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing Tristan?”

Tristan didn’t smile. He only raised his chin. She would never admit it, but when she first saw him she had the sudden urge to step back. His eyes had never been so cold before, so solid and empty. There was no doubt there. No hesitation. It was the look of someone who knew exactly what they were doing, and that they wouldn’t stop until it was done.

“You’re coming with me.” His voice was even, and though he muttered it low, it rang in Clarke’s head like a siren blaring.

She scoffed. “Like hell I am. You’ve gone too far now, Tristan. I knew you were insane, but _this_? Breaking into my home?” she laughed then, but it was so sharp and cold even it was a wonder the sound didn’t slice into his skin. She smiled, but the show of teeth was more a threat. “You better pray you’ve got a damn fucking good reason for the shit you’re pulling.”

He ignored the bite in her tone. Stepped forward, flexed his hands. “I am not asking, mutt. It is _you_ who has gone too far. Now you may decide, whether you come willingly, and if I’ll have to make you.”

They stared at each other, too far away for either to make a go at one another without having to lunge forward and project the move. Clarke ground her teeth. She did her best to keep her heart steady, so it couldn’t betray her fear, because it was far more unnerving than she’d ever admit to hear the thump of his core so sure and calm. This wasn’t a spontaneous decision. Not something that had burst up on a whim, impulsive and raw.

This was slow, planned, and for a moment a chill ran across her skin and she struggled to not react from it.

The low chatter of the TV was still going off behind her.

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “You’ve got five seconds to turn around, and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Tristan only took another step forward. “You will not come willingly, then?”

A growl ripped itself out of her throat before she could stop it. Tristan didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by it, and instead something that looked like _anything_ but a smile spread on his lips.

“Let me ask you one question mutt, then I will give one last chance to come quietly.”

Clarke’s eyes briefly scanned around her surroundings. There was nothing obviously sharp near her. And even if there was, she didn’t have near enough skill to throw it and have it do lasting damage. Her gaze did lag near the small dining table, the broken pile of the chair she’d kicked—and consequently smashed—the other week still sitting on the ground shoved up against the wall. That could work.

Before she could even take a step though Tristan was speaking, and the moment the words left his lips, she felt her very blood freeze right down to the bone.

“Tell me, do you know where your human is?”

Clarke’s gaze was slow to slide back to his. For a moment it was like she couldn’t breathe, and she _knew_ that he had heard her heart stutter—because his smile became a little broader, far more like a predator’s that had finally emerged from the tall grass.

He moved closer, taking her shaken silence as an incentive. “Come with me, and I’ll take you to her.”

“You’re bluffing.”

But he didn’t miss a beat, only tilted his head. “She’s working late tonight, right? The ALIE facility I believe. She drives that pick up truck. Blue.” His smile widened. “You remember my brother, don’t you? Do not fool yourself into thinking I cannot be in two places at once.”

No. _No_.

Clarke released a trembling breath, and suddenly it wasn’t a coldness that overtook her but a _burning_. “If you’ve hurt her,” she muttered, and her voice was low, feral, for once freely letting the beast that hid within her bleed out. “I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Tristan’s lips twitched. “Mutt, you couldn’t take a child.”

She could feel herself almost vibrating with restraint. Her wolf was practically chafing under her skin, making it itch and simmer. “Tell me where she is.” She snapped, and there was something harsh grinding in the back of her throat that even _he_ was unable not to react to. She revelled in the tension, unease, that snuck into his shoulders.

He shook his head slow. “The only way you will find her is if you come with me. So I will ask you again, _mutt_ ,” he spat out the word like it stung his tongue, his lip curling to reveal his teeth in a sneer. “Will you come willingly, or will I make you?”

They held seething stares. Clarke’s growl became louder, sharp and grinding enough that Tristan growled right back at her, most likely in instinct more than anything else, their stances shifted, her blood _burned_.

But she forced it back. Wrangled it no matter how much the process felt like swallowing hot coals. Clarke straightened, exhaled a breath that tremored. She nodded stiffly. Tristan relaxed, only slightly, and he watched her close as she approached him.

“Smart choice, mutt,” he murmured, and Clarke bit her tongue hard enough she almost tasted blood. Instead she made an effort to sigh, raised a hand to run it through her hair, Tristan rotating his body in preparation to follow her out the door.

He realised what she was doing by only a second quick enough.

As her fingers ran through her hair she used the motion to snatch the pencil still tucked atop her ear, and she bared her teeth as she swung it up a in a hard and fast swing aimed directly at his jugular. His eyes widened, and it was _just_ that his hand shot up in time block the strike. He wasn’t quick enough to disarm it, instead snarling as the pencil jammed _hard_ into the palm of his hand, only barely not going completely through.

“You’re a bigger fool than I thought,” he snarled, and his eyes flashed as he blocked another attempted hit and elbowed her in the jaw. She stumbled back, but her gaze never shifted from him. He ripped the pencil from his hand and threw it to the floor, coming at in her a frenzied blur that ended with a strike at her stomach, so hard she lost all traces of oxygen and for a moment couldn’t breathe, Tristan taking advantage of the hit and shoving her into a wall.

He swung at her and she ducked. His fist hit the wall with a loud crack of plaster, tiny flecks of debris and dust raining on her. He grunted when her own fist met his stomach, but his eyes snapped to hers with a raw, savage snarl and he grabbed her by the throat, ripping her back from the wall and slamming a hard enough kick to her torso it _ached_ and she was sent rolling over the dining table.

She hit the ground with a groan, and her ribs felt like they were on _fire_ —but Clarke merely grit her teeth, and she glanced up only for her eyes to widen. She dove out the way in time to miss Tristan’s leap over the table by leveraging a foot against the edge, practically flying over and her just barely dodging a heavy punch that would have been sure to break something. Her gaze jerked to the pile of broken chair, and she snatched a chair leg as Tristan grabbed her by the back neck of her shirt and roughly pulled her up.

“Give this _pathetic_ fight up now—”

She slammed the chair leg into his head. It broke into splinters in her hand, the amount of power she’d force into it shattering the already fragile wood. Tristan cursed and staggered, and he only managed to fend off a few of the fury of blows she gave at him as he recovered from the attack. There was blood leaking the down the side of his head.

He caught her wrist, but Clarke snarled, the sound scraping like a grater in her throat, slamming her free elbow his arm, following it by kneeing him in the gut when he his grip loosened. He back paddled to give some time to recover, but Clarke only charged forward, rammed her shoulder into him so hard that he almost flew backwards and instead went tumbling over the couch.

She was already moving after him. She vaulted over the couch but Tristan was up before she could process it, and she couldn’t even make one punch before he was grabbing a fistful of her shirt and using her own momentum to carry her forward, bending his knees and slamming in a throw back first into the glass coffee table.

Pain exploded across her back, eliciting a strained curse out of her. There was a particularly sharp burst at the small of her back where she assumed a piece of glass had wedged her there.

He was instantly dropping on her. He straddled her, hands already snapping onto her throat and strangling. Clarke writhed against him, desperately trying to hit any part of him, clawing uselessly at the iron grip fingers snared around her neck.

Her lungs ached. Vision blurred. A scream came from the TV, a high pitched of screech of _what have you done!_ and Clarke almost laughed from the sheer absurdity of its timing. The bride must have found her torn dress. Tristan’s teeth were bared, there was sweat coming in rivets down the sides of his head, and as Clarke struggled against him, choking on her losing breath; she thought she had never seen a man look so completely and utterly _animal_ before.

She used one hand to blindly feel the space around her, her eyes still staying locked on his own so he wouldn’t divert his attention. There were dark spots coming in at the corner of her vision when her fingers curled around a shard of glass in her hand and she jerked it upwards. He was forced to abandon one hand, so his arm could snap out and snatch hers, preventing the strike.

It was what she wanted though. She was free enough to use her other hand to rip off the one still on her throat, and Clarke reared up in with a snarl, smashing her head into his. It stunned him enough she could shove him off, and the moment she had scrambled onto her feet she gave a hard kick at his face when he tried to snatch her leg as she burst up. He was sent splaying backwards and Clarke ran, collapsing against a counter while coughing roughly and struggling to get her breath back.

Her eyes scanned the kitchen with an almost frantic intensity, and she lunged for the nearest thing that could be used a weapon. She grabbed the panhandle, and at hearing the sound of Tristan’s low snarl, the burst of steps as he presumably tore after her she tightened her grip and spun.

His arm wasn’t quick enough to come up to block it. The sauce went flying, splattering the kitchen counter and by some miracle only a few flecks getting on her. There was a loud meaty _clunk_ , but the weight of the sauce suddenly flying out the pan was enough to throw her momentum off, and though Tristan practically collapsed to the ground—when she made another move to hit him, he caught her arm, roaring at her as he disarmed her with a jerk to her wrist.

She only just managed to snatch her wrist from his grip to avoid him breaking it. She knew it wasn’t entirely luck though, as while Clarke stumbled back panting, Tristan remained keeled over on the tiles, groaning as even _more_ blood was trickling down the side from a nasty looking scar on his head. Her eyes flicked to the electronic stove still running beside her.

“You’ll regret ever fucking with me, Tristan,” Clarke spat, and with a snarl on her teeth she snatched his arm and roughly jerked him to his feet. He swayed but his stance was already shifting to come at her again, yet before he could do anything Clarke grabbed his head and slammed it down.

She forced his head still as she shoved his cheek directly onto the burning stove. Tristan _screamed_ , writhing and flailing wildly but Clarke only pushed harder, having to fight the urge to gag at the sudden pungent smell of burning flesh that infected the air. His hands were thrashing, reaching for _anything_ , and Clarke wasn’t quick enough to stop it when his fingers snared around the fork from before that was all of a sudden jammed into her thigh.

Clarke yelled at the burst of sharp pain that jolted through her leg, provoking a cry and a brief enough lapse in her grip, so that Tristan was able to rip himself from her hold. He landed a hard to kick to her. They both hit the tiles, but while Tristan was cursing again and again and _again_ —Clarke blinked when she caught an eyeful of the seared flesh, bleeding down his cheek and onto his neck, and she could only imagine the sheer amount of agony that must feel like—she was already moving again. Her gaze caught on the pan that was lying on the floor near her, and she snatched it as she jumped up to her feet.

Tristan was bringing himself to his feet too, and there was utter murder in his eyes, a fury so all-consuming that not the razing of an entire world could suffice for. He snarled, but before he could get to her Clarke burst forward and forced every possible ounce of power she had into a strike at his head. The pan slammed into him and his head snapped to the side, and this time when he collapsed into the floor he didn’t get back up.

Clarke staggered back as she stared at his limp body. Not even his fingers twitched, though when she strained her hearing she could hear a heartbeat. Not dead. He wasn’t dead. Not yet, at least. Her _own_ heart was pounding relentlessly against her ribs, the adrenaline blitzing through her system numbing the pain at her chest from when she breathed in.

“Shit, _shit,”_ Clarke dropped the pan and shook her head, brought up her hands and pressed the heel of her palms into her eyes. “ _Fuck_.”

Raven. She had to make sure Raven was okay. Tristan had said that his brother had her. If she could find where Quint was, she could find her. She took a step and was not expecting the sharp pain that flashed across her back, her foot faltering and her hands only _just_ jumping out to grab a counter edge to keep her upright. She panted through gritted teeth, and screwing her eyes shut she forced a steadying breath.

She reached behind her, blindly feeling for where the pain was coming from. Her fingers touched something cold and sharp, and she cursed at realising it was indeed a piece of glass from before. She tried to feel the length of it but it didn’t seem dangerously deep. She healed quick anyway, that much she knew, so she only a muttered a count down under her breath—three, two, one—then wrapped her fingers around the shard and ripped it out.

Clarke yelled at the stinging pain that _tore_ up her back, slamming the hand still holding the counter against the top. She swore with a creativity she didn’t even know she was capable of, glancing only briefly to the glass shard now in her hand, half of it stained red and dripping blood.

She looked down, and realised she still had the fork in her. “Oh that’s just great. Fucking wonderful, really.” A laugh escaped her, and the sound alone could have probably been enough to warrant admittance to the psych ward. She sobered, sighed again, then grasped the handle of the fork still wedged in her thigh. She didn’t realise it was bleeding until she actually looked at it and saw there was blood running down her jeans.

Whenever she finally died, she was going to go directly to wherever Fate resided and kick its ass.

It was the same explosion of pain when she tore it out. She shouted, threw the fork in the sink, held a hand against the wound on her thigh and limped towards Tristan. She eyed him, but still he didn’t move, so Clarke didn’t waste any more time before snatching her phone off the kitchen counter and unlocking it.

She called Lexa. Clarke hissed as she hobbled forward, carefully leaning her hip into a counter edge for some attempt of balance. The adrenaline was starting to wear off a little now, and more and more was her body beginning to feel like she had been the speed bump in a high traffic freeway.

She was examining her thigh when Lexa finally picked up.

“Clarke?”

Her entirety sagged with her exhale of relief. “Lexa, thank god. Where’s Quint?”

She could almost _hear_ Lexa’s confused frown. “Pardon?”

“Quint. Tristan’s brother. Is he at the house?”

The pain must have come through in her voice, the strain that was unable to be hidden because Lexa’s voice was sudden and panicked in her ear. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

A snarl ripped out of her throat and she slammed her hand against the counter. “For fuck’s sake Lexa, just tell me where the _fuck_ Quint is.”

Her outburst had Lexa instantly quieting.

She suddenly went muffled. There was the sound of movement, shuffling, distant yells that echoed. Eventually Lexa came back, the speaker crackling as she presumably picked up her phone too quick.

“He isn’t here, Clarke. Gustus tells me he left hours ago.”

Clarke struggled to keep calm. Her fingers curled on the counter until they were in a fist. “Did he say where he was going?” she asked, and she tried, she _tried_ to keep her voice even but the scared tremor was too obvious.

“No. Clarke, what’s happened? What—”

“Tristan tried to kill me. Well, kidnap. But I’ll assume his end goal is murder.”

“He _what_?”

Clarke ran a hand through her hair, stopping midday and tangling her fingers at the roots. “He came to my apartment.” She gave a tired sigh. “Look, he— _they_ —might have Raven and—”

Something sharp pierced her neck. She cursed, and suddenly there was a hand wrapping around her head, keeping her still as the sharp pain went _deeper_ and she desperately tried to break his hold but it didn’t work. She dropped her phone and drove her elbow back into Tristan’s stomach. It was hard enough she managed to break free, ripping herself out and kicking him back with enough power he staggered and fell to the floor.

Lexa was shouting through the phone. Clarke immediately brought her hand up to feel the wound, to try work how bad it was and how much time she had—but she froze at feeling no blood, no scar. She frowned, looking at her hand that only had the blood from her _other_ wounds, when all of sudden a wave of dizziness hit and she swayed.

Tristan stumbled back up to his feet. He smiled at her, raising his hand and revealing a syringe. There was a discarded case on the tiles. He must have got it out while she was distracted with Lexa.

“Smart,” he grunted, the burnt side of his face still bleeding and looking like he belonged on a horror movie set. He glanced at her phone on the floor before smashing it with his boot. “Of course you would flee to Heda.”

Clarke tried to hit him. But something was wrong, the angle was off and everything felt too slow, and it was like swatting a fly when he effortlessly blocked the strike and gave a retaliating blow. His fist smashed _hard_ into her jaw and she staggered back from the force of it, collapsing against a counter edge.

He made a move to grab her but she abruptly pulled away, retreating backwards on unsteady feet. He shook his head at her. “Heda might have been training you, mutt, but it seems she forgot to teach you the most important thing.”

Clarke bared her teeth at him. He ducked a punch with ease, hit in her chest and her stomach and her ribs that _throbbed_. Her legs hit the arm of the couch, but he only grabbed a fistful of the neck of her shirt and pulled her close.

He grinned wide with bloody teeth at her. “ _Always_ make sure they stay down.”

Before she could move he was snarling at her and throwing her forwards. She landed on the dining table, sliding across until she dropped right off and hit the floor. The pain tore across her back again, but Clarke pushed herself up, ignoring how everything was starting to blur and it was becoming harder to stand—to _move_ —even the chatter of the TV felt like it was underwater.

“The fuck did you do to me?” she growled, blinking through the sudden haze. Tristan stalked towards her, but his pace was slow, leisurely, and Clarke stumbled as she tried to back away.

“You know of monkshood, don’t you? The poison that slows your blood, your body, almost as if human.” Her back hit something. A wall. No, a cabinet case. The one where she kept her paints and easel. “The standard sedative will do nothing for us. But if you combine it just right…”

Her knees buckled. She held on to the edge of the cabinet. She ripped open a drawer, stuck her hand in but it was nothing but useless pencils and stationary. She opened the next one, found the same, but at the feel of something give a harsh sting to the tips of her fingers, she closed her fist around it.

Tristan was behind her before she could blink. He grabbed her shoulders and yanked her back until she was slammed up against the wall again. She groaned—god, everything just _hurt_ —but Tristan was already in front of her again and had a hand on her throat.

She thrashed, tried to break out and ignored the burning that was blaring in her closed fist, but Tristan’s hold was iron, and she knew it was futile. It was hitting now. She could feel it. Some intangible force was urging her to just close her eyes, her body feeling heavy like there were weights chained at her limbs.

“Tr–Tristan,” she chocked out, and when he frowned she tried again. “Wa– Wait—”

He narrowed his eyes, but she felt the crushing grip on her throat release enough so she could breathe again. His hand didn’t shift, but she coughed, pulling in gulping breaths. “What is it?” he snapped, his lip curling up again.

Clarke was still breathing heavily, but she only offered him a sharp smile. “Open wide.”

He frowned. “What?”

She opened her fist and slammed it into his mouth. She knew it worked and it had gone in when his eyes bulged and he reared back, cursing and spitting and _yelling_ as the silver bullet went down his throat. He threw a blind hit at her that was wild and untamed, but it still made contact, enough power in it to send her to the floor. He went down too, coughing and hacking so aggressively there were flecks of blood spraying the carpet.

Clarke was lying on her front, and she tried to get herself back onto her feet but her limbs gave out midway. They were heavy, so _heavy_ , and her vision was dipping in and out now, the light of the TV a distorted mess of colour bleeding in streaks. She could see the pan though, laying on the floor just a few metres in front of her.

She started to crawl for it. It felt like her body was shutting further and further down with every passing second, but she _forced_ it, she growled in open defiance and dragged herself as much as she could.

It was right as she was about to reach it that a boot suddenly came into view. Tristan kicked the pan away. Clarke swore, but before she could do anything—though what the hell could she even do at this point?—Tristan grabbed her shoulder and flipped her over. He saddled her, but when Clarke tried to get a swing at him he grabbed her wrist. He sent her head snapping back with a hard punch.

“A silver bullet,” he panted, pinning her other wrist. She struggled anyway, and it gave her a sick sense of satisfaction at least that there was blood dribbling from his lips now, his voice shredded and raw. “Even _I_ didn’t think you were delusional enough for that.”

There were black spots coming in at her vision now. It felt almost impossible to even move a finger. She tried to rear herself up, but her body wasn’t responding properly and nothing happened.

Tristan seemed to realise that too. His bloody smile widened, and he released her held wrists. He snatched the neck of her shirt and pulled her up, but when she tried to grab his hand or even just _anything_ , her fingers kept slipping on nothing and she was desperately blinking just to stay awake.

“You have no Heda to cower behind now, mutt. What a surprise, how weak you are without her,” he muttered, and it was that smugness, that bask in victory, that sent enough of a fire in her blood that she managed to actually work her mouth.

“Hey Tri…Tristan,” she breathed. She was slurring, the words dragging like dead weights. But Clarke rallied every remaining vestige of energy she had left and leant up as much as she could. “Fuck you.”

And in one last defying act she spat on him.

The darkness finally claimed her just as she saw his face twist into an enraged snarl.

-

Raven had been having a good day.

It certainly wasn’t the _best_ of days, mind, but it had been good nonetheless. Her supervisor, Emerson—a man who, were he not her boss, she’d have done something reckless by now—hadn’t been so imposing, muttering that he’d be busy for the day, and that should they had any problems, to section it off to Jones.

No one really liked Jones, either. He was mostly just a more inept version of Emerson, though lanky and beady-eyed, something always a little too sharp in his smile. Because while Emerson was indeed cocky and insufferable, almost _always_ reminding that he stood so many steps above her, he at least was vaguely competent enough for his position.

Though Raven still firmly believed he’d gotten the job through nepotism.

But she’d been free of him today. No Emerson breathing down her neck and itching for the opportunity of someone to fuck up so he could crucify them. And with it she realised she was free to work without a sharp presence over her shoulder, and so she’d opted to stay late to take advantage of it. It was nice. Freeing. Enjoyable.

She had even managed to snag Anya’s number—acquired via Clarke via Lexa—and while the replies were mostly only a few words and consisted primarily of an insult of some sort, she was still replying. She hadn’t immediately blocked her. Raven took that as a victory.

She didn’t notice till it was too late to do anything. She was on her phone, desperately trying to bite back her smile when Anya actually for once didn’t reply with _how the fuck did you get my number?_ but instead _Lexa is insufferable_. An actual, legitimate opener in conversation.

And she knew it was bad. Whatever this was. Raven was very much of the casual side of things. The most serious relationship she’d had was with the Chinese place in the town centre where they knew her by name, but _this_ —this thing, this flutter in her stomach, the erratic nature of her heart which had always been something steady—this was different. This felt something the type to consume her whole.

She was sat in her truck, grinning like an idiot at her phone, when the passenger side door suddenly opened. Her head immediately snapped up, as she was sure that she had locked the thing, but the answer soon revealed itself in the massive man that sat himself in the passenger seat and pressed a gun to her head.

Raven had just sighed.

She had been having a good fucking day.

“Don’t slow down.” Her captor grunted, giving her a hard shove. She stumbled and Raven ground her teeth. The last time she had sassed him he had socked her in her jaw. A cheap shot. Still, the shit hurt, and she wanted to at least wait till it wasn’t so pulsing again before she did anything regrettable.

It was getting dark now. A bad sign. The woods were dropping in their temperature the deeper they pushed, and it was becoming harder and harder to see. When she checked the sides of her all she saw was endless trees, the dark gaps that seemed to suck light in like a black hole. She had no idea where they were going, if _he_ even knew, but frankly Raven was quite confused.

Because if he’d wanted to kill her, he could have done it a while back. They were far in enough that he could have shot her a while ago and no one would have heard. But he hadn’t, they were still walking, still trudging, giving her a shove now and again or roughly grabbing a wrist-tied arm and pulling her into a sharp turn. Originally, she’d thought that his plan was just to take her out into the woods and shoot her. Seemed simple enough.

But she was starting get the feeling they were actually going somewhere. There was a destination for this.

“Where are we even going?” Raven asked, not that she really expected an answer. She could count on one hand how many words she’d heard him speak. Still. “Like come on, if you’d wanted to kill me, sure, fair enough, but do we really have to go so fucking far in? These boots are new. Not cheap either.”

She tried to catch his eye but he was acting like she hadn’t said anything. It was hard to make out his expression through the dark, but she was certain it was some variation of pissed off.

“Shut it, human. Keep walking.” His eyes flicked to her for once, narrowing slightly, but it was enough for her to realise that this would most likely be her final warning.

She scoffed under her breath, but when he gave her another hard push forward she assumed he heard.

It hadn’t taken much sleuthing to work out he was a werewolf. Sure, she had a list of people who’d probably pull the plug on her given the chance, but she’d been deliberately quiet since they moved here. Well, quiet within reason. They didn’t need any noise directed their way, not with Clarke’s affinity for getting into trouble and habit of growing fur three nights a month, and they _really_ couldn’t afford to have someone grow suspicious of them and investigate a little too close.

So Raven’s own list of possible enemies was decidedly low. Anyone with motive she’d think of still lived in Arcadia. Could just be by random chance, though that was unlikely too. When he got in her car, he had used her name. He knew her already. Planned, probably.

Which only left one other option. That being that Clarke’s gift for finding trouble, tended to become Raven’s trouble as well just from proximity alone.

She stretched her hands and winced at the tight pressure. He had restrained her wrists with a plastic tie. She had a pocketknife hidden in her boot—a precaution she’d had since she was a teenager—and if she could reach it she should be able to cut through it. The problem was actually getting it. The guy currently squeezing her arm was vigilant, any hint of movement and his eyes were always snapping to her. If she wanted to get it, there’d have to be a distraction of some sort.

She nearly tripped over a protruding root, just catching herself and side stepping last moment. Her captor didn’t seem to notice though, only seeing the movement, and all of a sudden Raven felt the dig of his handgun pressing into the small of her back.

“Jesus relax, I only tripped,” Raven snapped, glaring at him, but he ignored her and just dug the gun in harder.

The gun didn’t move as he continued marching her. She wouldn’t dare show it, but every time she focused on it she was hit with a wave of unease and dread. This was _very_ bad. And she was starting to realise there was a genuine chance she might not make it out the other end.

They came into a small clearing, and it wouldn’t be significant at all except in the centre was a dead deer laid in the dirt, head pointing to the left, slain and torn at its throat. Her captor straightened from beside her, but he didn’t seem scared or surprised, so she assumed that he had expected it there.

He dragged her over to a tree and for the first time stepped away from her.

“On your knees.”

Raven raised a brow. “Dinner would be nice.”

His eyes narrowed again and she wasn’t too surprised when he moved behind her and kicked the backs of her knees out.

“Yeah, that one’s on me,” she grunted, but bit her tongue to hide how much it truly hurt. He crouched in front of her, and though her jaw was clenched tight enough it ached, she met his stare head on.

He was bald, skin pale, and frankly looked like he could really do with a shave. But he was also built heavy with muscle, looked like if he wanted to could easily snap every bone in her body. It was for that reason that she didn’t spit in his face. She couldn’t escape if she could barely move.

He raised the gun so it was clear in her view. “You try anything, and you’re dead. I see you move and I’ll shoot.”

Her eyes followed him as he stood up, throwing her one last sideways glance before he walked away. He ended up stopping by a nearby tree, his back falling against it and his stare settling on her. Raven blinked as she realised that this was actually where he had been walking her all along. She glanced back to the dead deer. He must left it here as a beacon to find his way back. He had followed the scent.

Something cold and heavy crawled into her stomach.

Yeah.

This was really, really fucking bad.

She tried only a few times to see if she could reach into her boot. She adjusted so she so she was leaning back enough—which earned an intense enough stare she was sure he was even monitoring her breathing—but any time she waited till he was glanced away, attempting to reach down into her boot, the glimpse of movement had his eyes immediately coming back. She scanned the area around her, but it was only the dirt and trees of woods. Creating a distraction would be difficult.

She assumed that he was waiting for something, otherwise she had no doubt she’d be dead by now, so maybe when whatever arrives was here, _that_ could be her window. Raven sighed and tilted her neck up. The sky was beginning to darken completely, impatient stars already crawling out and popping up in clustered blinks.

There were some vague attempts of conversation on her part. She was bored and restless, the plastic tie so tight it dug painfully into her skin, and honestly a part of her was a little pissed that he hadn’t of just gotten it over with. Was this whole sitting in the dirt and dark necessary? If he’d wanted to kill her, did he really have to drag it out so much?

It would be nice if things could not go so abysmally wrong every five minutes.

An hour had passed now. Or at least she thought it was an hour. She knew at the very least that whatever length of time, that something was meant to be happening by now. Her captor was checking his phone a lot. His demeanour was a little more hunched and nervous, becoming increasingly antsy. She even tried to see just how distracted he was with it, but despite the tension in his frame his gaze, like always, was alert and too quick for her to slip her hand into her boot.

She was contemplating whether she should just go for it, risk a bullet and just bolt, when she saw him straighten up. He was looking across from her, and she was just inching her hand to her foot when there was the sound of approaching steps.

Heavy and disordered, snapping twigs and rustling leaves. Another guy was suddenly stomping through into the clearing, bald like her captor with the side of his cheek badly burned and bleeding. It looked like it must have been agonising, but Raven’s attention immediately snapped to the person he held tightly onto.

“Clarke,” Raven breathed, and she tried to stand up only for her captor to suddenly be behind her and pushing on her shoulder.

“Quint, you got her.” The new guy said, nodding at the man behind her, but Raven was still staring anxiously at Clarke. He had a tight grip on one of her arms—her hands appeared to be tied up from behind—but she was sagging in his grip, hair messed and an ugly looking bruise starting to form on her jaw. There was blood on her jeans, faded purple marks around her neck.

Quint stepped forward, though he kept one hand on Raven’s shoulder to stop her from moving. “Tristan, what happened?”

The man holding Clarke—Tristan, presumably—scowled, glancing to the woman in her arms before letting go and giving her hard shove. Raven was more than surprised to see Clarke’s reflexes not kick in fast enough, so instead of catching herself like she expected she ended up face first in the dirt. She groaned loud and Raven’s brow furrowed.

“She struggled.” He narrowed his eyes at her before glancing back up to Quint. “The drug is wearing off faster than expected, she should be coherent soon.” His gaze flicked to Raven. “And the human?”

“ _No sich_.”

Tristan nodded. “ _Os. Osir gaf chich_.”

Quint grunted something that seemed like it was an assent to whatever Tristan said. He let go of her and followed him, but only after Tristan threw a sneer at them before heading over to where Quint had been standing before. Raven waited till they were huddled away and back into a conversation in whatever language they were speaking before she discreetly shuffled forward.

“Clarke.” She hissed, and when she got no response from Clarke who’d yet to move Raven adjusted herself sideways and managed to flick a bit of dirt on her. “Hey! Wake up dumbass, I need you.”

Clarke cursed at the spray of dirt—even spitting some that had gotten near her mouth—but it seemed to work at least, because she managed to crane her neck up and finally see her. Raven was slightly worried to see her eyes were glazed and unfocused. Tristan hadn’t been lying then about drugging her.

“Raven?” she whispered, and she tried to push herself up with her knees but she collapsed midway. She swore a little too loudly and Tristan and Quint paused in their conversation, glancing over at them. Raven swallowed but when Clarke tried another attempt at getting up and failed again, they tore their gaze off and went back to each other. She didn’t blame them honestly. Clarke could barely keep her eyes open right now. Not exactly the most dangerous thing in the world.

“What’s going on?” Raven questioned low, and Clarke only had one more attempt at sitting before seeming to just give up. Raven frowned. “And what the hell happened to you?”

She blinked a few times, presumably to try and bring her mind back. She was lying on her side, and when Raven peeked she saw unlike her, she had chains tying her wrists. They were thick and heavy enough that the chances of Clarke ripping those off were depressingly low.

Clarke coughed roughly before speaking. “I don’t know, Tristan’s had it for me since day one. But I didn’t think…” her eyes closed, and she shook her head against the dirt. Her words weren’t entirely clear, slurred and dragging. She groaned under her breath. “We fought. I won, but he cheated.”

Raven stilled. She stared at her, wondering if Clarke was being serious, but it dawned that she really was when Clarke opened her eyes again, expectantly looking up at her.

“Are you fucking kidding me Clarke? Now is the time you’re proving your pride? Fucking _now_?”

Clarke scowled. “I’m not. I’m telling you that because he broke into our home. I thought I’d knocked him unconscious, so I managed to call Lexa. He snuck up midway, but, she knows we’re in danger.”

Raven’s eyes widened. “Are you—? Clarke are you _actually_ telling me that you called your girlfriend before you called _me_ , with, say, I don’t know, a fucking _warning_ perhaps that someone would be after me?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Clarke mumbled, and honestly, if Raven weren’t tied up she’d have hit her multiple times by now.

“That is _not_ the take away from this conversation and you know it.” Raven hissed. “You should have—”

Clarke cursed, but this time she managed to push herself up onto her knees. “We are not arguing about this.” She snapped, and though Raven was still pissed, she was relieved to find that Clarke’s words were a little clearer now. At her silence, Clarke released a heavy sigh. “Alright. Are you hurt?”

Raven sighed too. She glanced out to Tristan and Quint in a quick check of what they were doing, but they were still talking with each other. “I’m fine. Got a cheap shot in the jaw but yeah… I’m fine.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “He hit you?”

Raven nodded absently, more focused on eyeing Tristan and Quint who seemed to be arguing something now, and she only realised her mistake until she heard Clarke’s low snarl. Her head jerked back in time to see Clarke try to launch up to her feet, but Raven’s sharp snap had her stilling.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” She warned in a harsh whisper. Clarke growled at her, eyes flashing yet Raven only scoffed. “And don’t you growl at me. Pull shit like that and I’ll buy you a muzzle. Don’t test me.”

“Raven—”

“ _No._ If you wolf out, you’ll kill us both. I know you’ve got whatever wolf instinct to protect, but need I remind you the _extensive_ history of murder from your furry alter ago. So sit down and don’t fucking move.”

Clarke’s teeth were still bared and there was low growl trapped in her throat, but Raven just waited, a brow quirked up, and though it took long and gathered far too close attention—Tristan and Quint weren’t talking anymore, their stares locked on them for any sign of move—slowly, her features eased and they were left back in quiet.

Raven shuffled back anyway, giving them some distance. Even if Clarke seemed to have conceded, she still met their stares dead on, jaw clenched and eyes burning. The descending dark wasn’t enough to hide it, and even Raven could see the dangerous fury that was rolling off of her.

Quint handed Tristan the gun he’d threatened her with before. Raven knew they didn’t have long. “Okay. Look, I might have a plan okay? I just… I need you to stay calm. Just be calm, yeah?”

It was clearly the wrong thing to say. Clarke’s head snapped to her. “Calm? _Calm_? Everything about this is the antithesis of fucking _calm_ , Raven.”

“Since when do you know what fucking antithesis means?” Raven shot back. She was unable to stop herself. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was becoming increasingly worried, her heart beating faster by the minute and her nails digging deeper into her palm with each passing breath—she was too wired not to snap.

Clarke must have been of the same mind because it seemed she couldn’t resist the bait too. She scoffed at her. “You know I actually went to med school, right? You’re not the only one highly educated.”

Raven barked a sharp laugh. “Oh, and what a _fine_ job you’ve been doing with your high education Clarke, really, you’re the poster child for sophistication.“

Clarke stared incredulously at her. “Oh yeah, because my life has been an absolute fucking walk in the park—”

She was cut off with a punch from Tristan. Raven instinctively jumped back and only realised then that she hadn’t noticed them approaching. “Will you two _shut up_ for one fucking second?” he snarled, and though Raven wanted so much to do the opposite, she feared if she did he’d hit Clarke again. The blow had forced Clarke on the ground once more, but she must have known too that they shouldn’t antagonise him further, because she didn’t say anything back. The side of her cheek stung red now, dirt smeared on her face and messed in her hair while blood dripped from a split lip.

Tristan and Clarke held stares for a tense moment, until he eventually shook his head and waved his brother forward. Quint moved to Clarke, snatching an arm from behind and roughly pulling her up on her feet. Tristan lingered by Raven’s side, and she eyed the gun in his hands as he adjusted so he stood between them.

“What are you doing, Tristan?” Clarke tried to step forward but Quint dragged her back. “You won’t get away with this. Lexa will—”

“Don’t speak my Alpha’s name.” His hand tightened around the gun, knuckles going a dangerous shade of white. Clarke tried to break free again but Quint hooked his elbow around her neck, choking any words out of her.

She bucked wildly in his grip until Raven suddenly felt the cold metal of the gun pressing into the side of her head. “Resist and I’ll blow her head right now.” She heard him cock the gun, and Clarke only gave one last failed attempt before she slowed, chest heaving and teeth bared. Her eyes jumped between Raven and the gun, seeming to gauge if he was bluffing or not—it didn’t matter though, because soon Clarke was giving in anyway. She went still. Raven would’ve been touched if she wasn’t entirely more focused on the weight of the barrel at her side of her temple.

Tristan uncocked the weapon, Raven’s shoulders sagging as he pulled the gun away. Quint’s hold loosened so he wasn’t choking anymore but his arm didn’t shift from around her throat.

“Now what I’m doing, _mutt_ ,” Tristan continued, exposing his teeth. “Is protecting my pack.”

Clarke frowned. Raven was starting to get a heavy sinking feeling in her gut. “Protecting?” she asked, her brow knotting further, and Raven was relieved to see that Tristan’s grip on the gun relaxed somewhat. He raised his chin.

“Yes. Protecting. I’ve seen you. You are a threat to my pack, to my Alpha. You have snaked your way into her trust, managed to commit yourself into a sacred bond between her. You. Bitten. Alone.”

He stepped forward slowly, his words cold yet burning. Clarke held his stare as he did, even if Quint pulled his arm closer and yanked at the chains restricting her wrist tighter.

“Lone wolves never last long. They will find a pack, always. Even the banished meld together.” Tristan stopped when he was in front of her. Raven was sitting on her knees, and she tried to see if she could use the moment to reach back for her boot. But while Tristan was focused on Clarke, Raven saw that Quint was staring intently at her. “Yet you’ve been isolated for years. Only the guilty hide, and I know you’ve killed.” His lips pulled into a sneer. “I don’t think it a coincidence that you’ve found your way into Heda’s favour. Heda is fair, she showed you mercy and you took advantage.”

Clarke snarled at him but he didn’t even flinch. He only shook his head, started moving backwards.

“Heda had more than the right to kill you for trespassing her territory, for revealing us to a human. But she let you live. She began _training_ you, and you spit on everything she gives.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Clarke snapped.

Tristan held her stare. “You exposed us to a human. You exposed something _sacred_ , you brought her on the full moon where we run! You have your own, _turned_ , brought into my pack when she should have been killed and done with. You threaten Heda, my pack, our kind’s _existence_ , and what consequences do you face?” He threw out a hand, his words coming faster and harder, his eyes flashing in the dark of the falling night. “Heda gives you pardon after pardon. Because _you_ force her; you have set yourself near untouchable by manipulating your way by her side.”

Clarke growled as she fought in Quint’s hold. “You’re fucking delusional. If your problem is with me, then take it with me. Leave Raven out of this.”

But Tristan just smiled. “No. My _problem_ with you is why your human is here. You are a threat to my own, but I cannot kill you because of your pact with Heda.” He ground his teeth. “It would be an indirect insult against her.”

Clarke blinked, and Raven only just bit back the bitter scoff that wanted to escape, knowing that she couldn’t afford to attract attention right now. She threw a glare at Clarke, even if she didn’t see.

Raven couldn’t believe that Clarke’s useless libido was actually going to get her killed.

“So what is this then?” Clarke eventually asked, seeming to need a moment to recover, nodding in his direction. “A threat?”

Tristan merely scoffed. “You might have ignored my threats, but they were never empty. You brought this on yourself, and there is no one to blame but you.” For the first time he looked away from her, and Raven felt her chest tighten when his stare switched so it settled on her. Clarke straightened in Quint’s grip, but Raven kept her chin high, even if every current possible outcome right now seemed to end in her dying. “But there are some things even Heda cannot protect you from,” Tristan murmured. His eyes flicked back to Clarke, bobbing his head at Quint. “ _Teik em gon nila_.”

Quint drew his arm away so Clarke was free, but the moment was fleeting before he grabbed her shoulders and forced her down on her knees. Clarke’s eyes sought her out, and Raven almost laughed when she saw her release a shuddered breath, mouth that everything will be okay. She humoured her with a nod, but they both knew that there was no way this would end in anything even vaguely resembling to _okay_.

Raven glanced up, and for once, the sky was clear and she could make out the faint smear of the Milky Way against the black canvas.

“Do you know what Bloodlust is?”

Raven frowned at hearing Tristan’s question, but it only deepened when she looked to Clarke and saw her freeze. It seemed like her breath had caught in her throat, her eyes widening, and Raven came to the abrupt conclusion that whatever a Bloodlust was, it was probably very, very bad.

“Do you know we have a law?” Tristan went on, seeming to ignore her silence. He gestured with his empty hand at her. “Has Heda taught you? That though _Jusgafen_ is only ever temporary, it is impossible to predict how long it will last. A week. A month. A year. There is no way to know. Only that one day, they will come out of their craze only after the pain is gone.”

Tristan paused then. He had been standing somewhat between them, but now he moved until he was out of Raven’s sight. He walked till he was behind her. She could feel her heart splintering her ribs, chaotic and thundering in her ears. Clarke must have heard it speed up because her gaze snapped to her. Her jaw tightened.

“Your fight is with me, Tristan. Let Raven go.”

“Bloodlust wolves kill anyone in their haze.” Tristan continued, appearing to act as if Clarke hadn’t said anything. Raven worked on keeping her breathing even. She hadn’t noticed the air had been getting cold. “Humans. Family. Their pack. They are our biggest weakness and risk, and it is too dangerous to simply wait a Bloodlust out. A Bloodlust wolf doesn’t care for exposure and endangers us all.”

“Hurry up and get to the point.” Clarke snapped. She tried to free herself but Quint reached behind him and revealed a knife. He brought it to her throat, making her flinch and tilt her head away.

Raven felt him step back from behind her. “Any wolf found in Bloodlust is to be killed.” Tristan stated, and that sinking feeling from before came back, but this time it was like there was a restless snake in her gut, twisting and knotting and leaving her want to _heave_. “A Bloodlust is triggered through extreme psychological pain. It is incredibly difficult to artificially trigger, but would you like to know the one exception?”

Raven sucked in a sharp breath when she felt the gun tip press into the back of her head again.

“Kill their kin before their eyes.”

Clarke burst forward. She didn’t get far, and Quint dug in the knife enough that a streak of blood came leaking down her neck, but it did nothing to hold her back. Raven closed her eyes, ignored the sounds of Clarke’s animal snarling, her grunts at the hits against flesh. She tried to force a steadying breath.

It was fine. It was going to be fine. She had this. Carefully, she leant back, and her fingers brushed the tip of her boot from behind.

When her eyes opened again Clarke had a new red mark that’d be sure to develop into a nasty bruise at her eye, struggling against Quint who held her back from behind, unable to break free. “You can’t,” she panted, and Raven could hear the pure terror and pleading in her voice. Clarke’s lip pulled back in a snarl and she growled low. “You’ll never get away with it.”

Tristan laughed from behind her. The sound made her cringe. “On whose word? You will be gone. She will be dead. I warned you, mutt.” Raven felt more than heard the sharp click of the gun cocking. “Maybe, if I’m lucky, Heda will be the one to kill you.”

Clarke attempted to break free again but Quint’s strength made her efforts nothing in his hold. “Please,” she begged, her voice breathless and strained. “You can’t. I’ll do anything you want. I can leave, okay? Fuck I can—I can _go_ , get the fuck out. You can never see me again.”

But Tristan only sighed. “Your word holds no weight. I can’t trust you won’t return. Gather other mutts and fight against Heda. Give away Heda’s secrets. No, there is nothing you can do for me.”

“Please! You don’t have to do this, you don’t, just kill me and be done with it, don’t take Raven. She’s innocent in all this—”

“ _You_ are the one who exposed us to her,” Quint hissed into her ear. “Her death was inevitable.”

Clarke shook her head, desperate and frantic. “It was an accident, it was never intentional. This is my fault, _mine_ , please.”

Quint smiled. “Then it is your fault she will die.”

Raven slipped the tip of her finger into her boot. Clarke swore again, fought even harder to escape but it didn’t work. She gave a vicious growl before throwing her head back. Quint clearly hadn’t been expecting the hit, grunting at the impact that landed with a crunch. She used the brief distraction to kick her foot up from behind, but all resistance stopped when there was a sudden deafening _bang_ and Raven jerked forward.

The ringing in her ears made it near impossible to hear anything, Raven screwing her eyes shut and cringing at the echo of the gunshot that had gone off far too close. It took a moment, but she realised that she wasn’t actually dead. Tristan had fired upwards.

Clarke had gone dead still at the gunshot, and Quint was able to get her in his hold again. His face was twisted in an irritated snarl now, blood still coming from his broken nose. Her and Clarke met sights and she saw her entire body sag at seeing she was still alive.

The ringing was still blaring in her ears when Tristan started talking again. She couldn’t really make it out, but she assumed it was an insult of some sort by the way Clarke suddenly bared her teeth, bucking in Quint’s hold. His arm was back at her neck, tight and unmovable.

Raven’s hand inched further into her boot. She felt her sock.

There were tears in Clarke’s eyes now, even if she was still snarling and attempting to fight Quint’s grip. She saw Quint mutter something into Clarke’s ear and her efforts slowed, face somehow paling even more, and Raven could see the exact moment that Clarke realised she really couldn’t stop this. She didn’t know how to tell her without words that she had a plan, that she could feel the cool metal of the pocketknife against her fingertips now. It didn’t help that Clarke wasn’t even looking at her anymore.

She was panting from the struggle, and only once she’d gone still again, defeated, the ringing dimmed enough that Raven could make out their voices once more.

“This is for my pack.” Tristan muttered, and Raven held her breath when the gun pushed into her head, her fingers moving achingly slowly inside her boot. They were trembling and sweaty, but she managed to get enough of a grip on the knife to carefully start inching it out.

But then something changed. Clarke had been limp, breathing heavy and helpless, when it did. She blinked, a resolve building behind her eyes, and when she released a controlled slow breath her eyes fell shut. Raven felt the cold metal of the knife slip over her ankle, pressing against her skin, but she frowned as Clarke’s brow knotted and she whispered desperate words under her breath.

“Come on,” she murmured, went on repeating it, and right as Tristan snapped at her to make sure she’d watch this—she suddenly cried out in pain and lurched forward. She ended up on her knees, curling over with another grunt, and Raven recognised those sounds far, far too well. A chill swept over her and her very soul froze.

“Quint, what—”

“This isn’t me,” Quint rushed to assure, but Raven could feel panic welling up in her fast and heavy and barely heard him.

She tried to move forward but Tristan’s hand grabbed her shoulder and prevented her. “Clarke, don’t,” she begged, but Clarke didn’t listen. Her body gave a violent jerk and she fell forward, sweating and breathing fast into the dirt.

Tristan sighed once he realised what was happening. “Turning won’t change anything, mutt. You will still watch her die. Whatever form you are in.”

Raven cursed loudly. “You will kill us all you idiot, can’t you see that? Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

It was a low blow, she knew that, but she was desperate and Clarke wasn’t listening and Jesus fucking Christ if she didn’t think she was going to die before she sure as _fuck_ thought she would now.

“Do we let her?” Quint asked, and Raven’s head whipped around to Tristan, every inch of her paling when he gave a nonchalant nod.

“It won’t change anything. If anything it’ll be easier to take her to Heda.”

“Are you _insane_?” Tristan’s lip pulled into a sneer at her remark, but Raven couldn’t have given less of a shit. “You can’t let her turn, she’ll—”

“ _You_ will not speak, human.” Tristan cut her off, but he couldn’t get any further in his reprimanding before Clarke snarled loud and far too animal. Raven’s attention snapped back to her, and she stared wide-eyed at seeing that she was trying to pull at the chains around her wrists now. The metal strained, shaking with the effort, and she growled something aggressive and savage when the chains suddenly broke apart with a metallic snap. Her hands immediately came out to push her up, but Quint hurriedly dropped onto her back with his knee and pinned her down.

“I thought you said those were strong enough.” Tristan snapped and Quint looked up at him with his mouth open.

“They should have been,” he shook his head in the disbelief, and Clarke gave another grunt and there was that sick _crunch_ , her spine jerking up and having Quint forced to push down harder.

“Clarke _stop_.” Raven pleaded again, watching uselessly as she writhed with Quint still digging his knee into her back, growls and grunts escaping under her breath. It did nothing.

Quint looked like he was about to say something when Clarke gave a vicious snarl and abruptly pushed _hard_ against the ground. Quint was thrown off from the force of it, stumbling back and hitting the grass. Clarke immediately got up to her feet, turning on Tristan with a roar only to get tackled after one step by Quint.

Raven jumped back as they both slammed into the ground. Quint ended up on top of her, Clarke’s punch getting halted midway with a pained yell and her back arching with a sickening rip of bone. He only managed a single hit until she was catching his fist, grabbing his forearm, and throwing him off. They both scrambled up and snarled low at each other, teeth bared and looking entirely more animal than human. Clarke’s leg gave a jolt and she fell to one knee, but when Quint came at her she still fought head on.

She had to get out of here. Right fucking now. That barely there, atom thin chance of survival became absolutely _nothing_ if she was here when Clarke turned. She saw what happened to Finn. They both did. She knew Clarke was desperate, but this was quite possibly the stupidest thing she had ever done.

When she checked over her shoulder she saw Tristan was focused on the fight. She dug her hand into her boot again, snatching the knife and pulling it out. She immediately closed her fist around it to hide it, but a cautious glance at Tristan proved he hadn’t noticed.

“Quint, enough of this! Subdue her and bring her here,” he ordered, but Quint didn’t even look at him, landing a hard strike at Clarke’s stomach that had her falling into the ground. She tried to push herself back up but her arms were shaking too violently. There was another jolt and she cried out, and Raven could see the fabric of her shirt on her back strain against the muscle and bone rising and falling beneath in harsh, jerky movements.

She was collapsed near the edge of the clearing and Quint trudged over to her, panting heavy, but Raven felt her blood go cold when Clarke’s eyes flicked up from where her head was still bowed, meeting hers from across the grass.

They were yellow.

Quint snatched her arm and roughly hauled her up, but the second she was she struck him in the throat and he staggered. There was one last snarl from her before she broke free of his grip, ramming into him with enough force they went toppling over a fallen tree and were swallowed by the dark. Raven could hear the rustle in the dirt and leaves, the sounds of them rolling in their struggle; animalistic growls punctured by the dull thuds against flesh.

But the sounds of snapping came faster. A wet crunch and a harrowing scream, tripping midway into a groan too deep to be human. Tristan stepped forward and stared out where they had fallen through. His fingers were clenched so tightly around the gun now they were trembling.

“Quint,” Tristan called out. “Do you have her?”

There was no answer. Only the disturbing cracks of bone. A sharp agonised cry.

Raven switched the blade out, keeping her eyes trained on Tristan in case he spun around and she needed to bail. It was difficult and her wrist ached at the unnatural angle she had to bend it at, but she managed to slip the knife under. She could feel her pulse in her ears as she started to cut away at the plastic.

“Answer me, Quint!”

She heard Clarke’s groan stutter halfway, roughening into guttural grunts. They were nearly out of time. She started cutting even faster, her wrist straining with the effort and having her grit her teeth. “Come on, come on,” she chanted under her breath, though thankfully Tristan didn’t seem to notice.

Raven risked it to glance behind her, her chin digging into her shoulder as she tried to peer at her hands. She was getting somewhere. It was taking too long though. She was barely half the way through. She swore before upping her efforts, biting her cheek and praying thoughtlessly to every deity she’d ever heard of.

It was the silence that terrified her most. It was only a beat, but the pause was enough to have her heart stumbling in her chest. A snarl sounded out, and _this_ one Raven knew like the back of her hand. It didn’t really surprise her when there came the sudden snapping of twigs, rushed, hurried steps that drew closer and closer.

Quint came staggering into the clearing. He was panting so hard he couldn’t speak, his skin flushed yet pale, blood leaking down the side of his head. His eyes immediately snapped to Tristan’s and his knee buckled as he stumbled forward. “ _Ron we, osir gaf ron._ ” He panted, eyes wide and full of fear. “Leave the human, we need to—”

“ _Shof op._ I’m not leaving the human.” Tristan growled, shoving him with one hand. “Where is the mutt?”

But Quint just shook his head. “We fucked up, we— _fuck_ , the mutt she’s, she’s—”

A howl sounded from the dark. Quint paled till he was practically white.

Tristan ground his teeth. “Quint, where is—”

“You don’t understand!” Quint yelled. “The mutt, she’s Wan—”

He was cut off by a colossal mass of blond fur slamming into him. They were sent sprawling, but Clarke was already scrambling up to four paws and immediately latched onto Quint’s leg with her teeth—now razor sharp teeth exposed by a snarling muzzle—growling ferociously as she dragged him back into the trees. Quint screamed and tried to dig his hands into the ground for grip, but all he ended up doing was clawing at the dirt and leaving useless finger trails.

“Quint!” Tristan ran after him, stopping just where he had disappeared into the dark, and they could both hear his desperate screams echo out into the night air.

Raven gave up all attempts of subtlety. So what if Tristan caught her trying to escape her binds, that seemed a _far_ better option than being restrained while an actual killer fucking werewolf was loose. Tristan was still yelling after his brother, and Raven swore when she accidently sliced her thumb, her fingers shaking too hard with her fear. “Come on, you stubborn shit,” she hissed, chancing only a quick glance to Tristan, cringing when she heard Quint’s scream get silenced midway with a sick gurgle.

The relief that flooded through her when she finally cut through was dizzying. She grinned wide before hurrying up on her feet, but she’d only just started running when a gunshot went off and a sharp pain jolted through her arm. She cried out and clutched where it burned, but when she examined the wound she saw that though it had gone through, the skim was shallow.

“Take another step and my next shot won’t miss.”

Raven immediately put her hands up. “Woah hey, hey, okay I’m not moving, see? Perfectly still.”

The gun stayed trained on her. His hand tightened around the weapon, clenching his jaw. “What is she?” he demanded, his voice sharp and loud enough Raven flinched.

“You know what she is.” Raven answered slowly, but it only seemed to rile him up and he bared his teeth.

“Tell me!” he yelled, bringing his other hand to the gun.

Raven’s eyes widened with alarm and she reflexively ducked her head. “Jesus, I don’t know! Fucking Wanheda, the First Werewolf, The OG, Mother Of All Wolves does it _matter_? If we don’t get the fuck out of here right now she’ll kill us both.”

Tristan’s lip curled up into a snarl. “You’re her pack. Don’t lie to me.”

But Raven just gave an empty laugh. “No, I’m _Clarke’s_ pack. Not that thing’s.” She let through a shuddered breath. “And the last time I was with her I sort of shot her, and if that thing has even _half_ of Clarke’s ability to hold a grudge; I’m very much dead.”

His brow furrowed then, the gun lowering slightly. Raven was itching to bolt but she knew she’d be dead before one step.

She swallowed thickly. “We need to run. Look, I can completely forget the whole kidnap-attempted-murder thing. No problem. Water under the bridge. Just—just let me go, _us_ go, to wherever your car is and get the fuck away.”

Tristan eyed her closely. Raven was almost at verge of just saying fuck it and running—accepting that death by gunshot would probably be better than ripped apart by werewolf—when something was thrown out of the trees and hit the ground in a spray of dirt.

It was Quint’s body. His eyes were still open, mouth open and slack-jawed, and the sight of the ripped apart torn flesh almost had Raven dry retching.

“Quint,” Tristan breathed, staggering forward and sinking to his knees by the remains of him.

It was too similar. It was so fucking similar. She had buried the memory of it as far as she could go but _fuck_ it wasn’t working when she could see the body right goddamn there. She knew she needed to run, but she hadn’t even made one step when Clarke slowly emerged from the dark. A black lip curled up and her head ducked close to the ground, a deep growl vibrating from her throat. Her muzzle was almost completely red, blood dripping from her teeth and sprayed on her legs and chest, drenching the previously blond fur.

Raven backed away. She didn’t know how, but she seemed far, _far_ bigger when she wasn’t in a cage. Her ears were pinned flat against her head and she snapped her jaws at them, yellow eyes so burning they almost glowed in the night. Tristan looked up at the sound. He only lingered by his brother a heavy moment before he was standing.

Clarke’s sharp eyes followed him, her growl seeming to become louder, but Tristan merely spat at the ground near her and raised the gun. “He was my brother you fucking bitch!” he snarled, veins straining at his neck and face flushing red. Clarke snarled right back, bending her knees before launching at him. He rolled from her path and the second he was up he was wildly opening fire on her, but Clarke was already spinning around and charging at him like the bullets meant nothing. Tristan’s eyes widened and he swore, backing up faster and faster the more she gained.

Before he could dive out this time she lunged forward and backed him into a tree. He kept shooting and tried to aim it at her head, but Clarke had pinned his arm back with a claw pressed at his shoulder. The sounds of bullets cracking were suddenly replaced by sharp clicks. He’d run out of ammunition. Clarke made a move to snap her jaws around his throat but he ducked, slamming his fist into her muzzle, her eye, to stun just enough that he was able to rip out of her hold and stumble free. His balance was thrown for a moment too long and he hit the ground, but just as quickly was he scrambling back up on two feet.

Raven tried to see if she could get away, but at the first glimpse of movement those yellow eyes snapped to her and she froze.

Tristan threw the gun down. Clarke roared at him, the sound practically shaking the trees, but he only dived at Quint’s mauled body and snatched his knife that he’d had against Clarke before.

“Come on then!” Tristan spat, the knife clutched tight in his hand. “Fight me, filthy fucking mongrel.”

Raven jumped away when Clarke came at him. He sidestepped, but Clarke seemed to have preempted it, snapping her jaw to the side and catching his arm. Tristan cried out and made a move to stab her head but Clarke ducked away before he could, abandoning his arm in favour of dodging the blow. She gave a savage snarl before lunging again, Tristan just barely avoiding her teeth in his neck.

Her truck. She didn’t have the keys to her truck. Quint had taken them after she had driven them here. He had held the gun to her, directed her where to drive. Did she remember where she parked? It didn’t matter how far Raven ran. Clarke could just follow her scent. Her heartbeat. Her struggle. If she wanted _any_ chance of survival she needed the keys and to find wherever the hell Quint made her stop.

She was so very, very fucked.

Raven dove for the ground when Tristan got too close. Clarke leapt over her and barrelled after him. She looked up in time to see Tristan head for the line of trees, but instead of escaping the clearing like she expected he jumped and kicked with one foot off the trunk. Clarke skidded to a stop and immediately rose up on her hinds, snarling at him, but he seemed to have expected it and used the height to land on her back.

She rolled before he could. Not fast enough to avoid the knife that’d he had been aiming down though, and Clarke let out a strained whimper when the blade dragged across her back. Raven cringed at the sound, at the bleeding scar now spread through muscle and fur. She shook off the attack within a heartbeat though, snapping her jaws and launching at Tristan. He wasn’t quick enough this time. He hit the ground, Clarke on top of him, but when she dove for his throat his arm shot up in time to take the attack instead.

He screamed. The knife fell from his hand, and when he tried to grab it with his other she bit down harder and jerked him in a throw forward. He flew before crashing into the ground, and rolling over he panted and swore, crawling onto his hands and feet while he cradled his mangled arm.

Raven looked away. She decided to risk it, hoping that Clarke was distracted enough with Tristan, and ran for Quint’s body. She dropped by him, ignored the intense wave of nausea at being so close—the smell made her want to throw up so bad she could taste it in her mouth—instead started trying all of his pockets. She first checked the one at the corner of his shirt, feeling no bump of her keys, soon swearing and frisking the rest of him.

She glanced up at the sound of another scream. Clarke was on top on Tristan again, but when he tried to roll out from under her she lunged forward and grabbed his shoulder with her jaws. He cried out, swearing and spitting, but Clarke bit down harder and _growled_ , shaking her head violently with her teeth still lodged in his flesh. She ripped her head back with a terrifying, triumphant sort of snarl, straight up tearing a chunk of his shoulder.

Tristan screamed again, he _screamed_ like nothing Raven had ever heard. His face was white, with what she didn’t know was either terror or blood loss, yet even so, furious spite must have been one hell of an adrenaline because he only, uselessly, clutched at the pouring blood coming from the missing piece at his shoulder with his hand and desperately shuffled backwards.

He didn’t get far. Clarke snared a clawed paw into his stomach and _yanked_ and any progress of distance he made was forfeit. He yelled again, tried to throw the claw off him but his already weakening strength was nothing against something of that much mass of raw muscle and power.

Clarke roared directly into his face, blood and spit hitting him, but somehow Tristan held strong, and in a baffling display, actually _spat_ a mouthful of his own blood on her.

His laugh was broken and wet, the type of sound only ever made at the end of things. “Karma’s funny, isn’t it?” he grinned that maniac’s grin at her, and right as he was about to say something else she ripped her claw out, shredding the flesh as she went, before lunging with her teeth into his stomach. Raven saw the flesh tear and the blood spray and heard his _scream_ and she snapped her gaze away before she threw up right fucking there.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking fuck shit _fuck_ —“

His trouser pockets were soaked through with blood. She could feel the warm liquid on her fingers and she hated it. His front pockets gave nothing, her hands were shaking so bad it was becoming difficult to peel the fabric open. She kept chanting the string of curses under her breath as she reached over and grabbed his arm. With a grunt she managed to roll him over.

Tristan wasn’t screaming anymore.

“Come on, I know you’re here, I know you have—yes!” Raven practically cried in her relief when she finally felt her keys in his back pocket. She quickly grabbed them and scrambled up to her feet. Shit, where they had come from? From behind or in front?

The deer. The way they had come, its head was lying towards the left. She checked its position from where she was, realising it was opposite and started running. She bolted across the clearing, but it was only as she was about to escape, something heavy rammed into her from the side and she was sent flying.

The slam into the ground had her crying out at the white flash of hot pain, the wound where Tristan had shot her taking the brunt of the impact. Raven groaned, her arms shaking as she tried to push herself up, and she glanced upwards only to see Clarke’s bloodied teeth barely a metre from her.

“Shit!”

She scrambled backwards as far as she could, till her back hit a tree. She tried to grab it to move around it, but Clarke’s sudden snarl at the movement had her abandoning midway and instead raising her hands. “Okay, okay, you win, you got me, checkmate.”

Jesus, blood was still dripping from her muzzle. Nearly her entire face was soaked in crimson now, that ever-present growl making her heart beat faster. Raven tried to back up further but the tree prevented her. She was panting, and she came to sudden realisation that this could well and truly be it.

“Come on Clarke, it’s me, your best friend,” Raven tried, and Clarke’s snarl had her flinching and raising a hand. She stared at her, struggling to breathe as Clarke slowly stalked forward. “Come on! I know you know. We’ve been through everything. _Everything_. Even your first boyfriend! You remember? That guy, Luke or something, he had that really ugly fucking laugh that you for some god knows reason found cute even if we _all_ knew it sounded like a goose being strangled—”

Clarke’s lip curled higher, exposing the red of her gums and growling with a snap of teeth. Raven flinched and cursed again under her breath.

“Bad example, bad example! Sorry, that’s on me, ignore that.” She was so close now. Raven wondered if she could jump out before Clarke’s lunge would get her. Maybe she could, but the distraction would only last a second and Clarke would chase her down before she’d even made it a few steps. Raven gulped and her throat was so dry it was like swallowing a rock. “God, I fucking knew I’d regret sitting next to you in English.”

It had been the first day. At the cusp of puberty, a new school and knowing no one, and she had made the impulse decision to sit next to the blonde kid at the back. She knew she’d end up regretting it. She’d figured it would’ve been something like bailing her out though, getting caught in the middle of a feud and holding her back. She never thought it’d end up costing her life.

She was close enough she could smell it now. The rank stench of flesh and blood. She screwed her eyes shut and tilted her face away, started mumbling a prayer in Spanish under her breath. She’d never been religious, but in this moment all she could think of was her grandmother’s muttering at her fading husband’s bedside, the way she clutched his frail hand in her own and bowed her head.

Clarke’s hot breath fanned on her cheek and she couldn’t hear anything but the rapid pounding of her heart. It pulsed in her ears and in her chest and in her hands, deafening and drowning everything out. She felt the burning behind her eyes but didn’t dare give them the privilege of falling.

She should have run. Right back when she turned. She should have run. Not hesitate; not leave to go find her, not stay to believe her. She should have just fucking _ran_ , packed up and everything and created an entirely new life. Finn’s death had been a warning, hadn’t it? So why hadn’t she listened?

Her thoughts kept spiralling. But Ravens’ brow twitched as she realised that she wasn’t dead yet. And actually, she was very much alive. Breathing. Throat still firmly intact. Organs not spread across the forest floor. She noticed that that hot breath and stench wasn’t near her anymore, and so, cautiously, she peeked an eye open.

Clarke was staring at her. But her snarl had trailed off, and though Raven could still just make out the blood-stained teeth, there was something almost confused, attentive in the usually so burning yellow eyes—she found herself scared to even breathe, terrified she would break whatever the hell was happening. She made a sudden growl, lip curling a little too high and Raven immediately sucked in a sharp breath.

But then she jerked. A guttural sound, strained and heavy, and when she stepped back— _away_ from her—one of her front legs bent and she half-collapsed. Once it found its own rhythm it grew faster, grunts and sharp growls speeding up as she writhed, the fur coming _in_ , that massive predator’s body shrinking. Raven was partially sure she was hallucinating, but a particularly harsh snarl, accompanied by a rough shaking of a head, had her pushing up impossibly further into the tree.

It didn’t seem real, but the animal grunt, a surprisingly heart-wrenching pained whine, stuttered into a human groan, a gasp of pain and shock, muscle becoming smaller as the fur shrunk in until it was gone entirely, instead leaving pale skin and long and loose blonde hair suddenly where there was none.

Raven was quite convinced she had never felt such a sheer flood of relief and joy this intense in her entire life.

A choked laugh broke out of her throat, messy and breathless, and she smiled far too wide at seeing Clarke crouching in front her— _human_ Clarke, albeit naked and covered in blood and dirt. She stared open mouthed as the last of the yellow disappeared out of her eyes, swallowed with blue, and Raven for a moment was completely shock still, struggling to even process what had just happened.

Clarke exhaled a shuddering a breath. “Raven?” she whispered, and Raven laughed again with her relief.

She lunged forward and pulled her into a crushing hug. Clarke’s arms came up around her too, holding her desperately tight as well, and even if Clarke was trembling in her grip and her skin was wet to touch she didn’t care. “You bitch, you _bitch_. You fucking piece of shit.” She squeezed her tighter enough she was sure Clarke couldn’t breathe. “I hate you so fucking much. You know that, right? God, I fucking _hate_ you. ”

“Raven…” Clarke breathed, and seemed to fail to speak beyond that.

Raven shook her head into her neck. “Shut up. It’s okay. It’s alright.” She felt the tears break through then, even if her eyes were still screwed shut she felt them hot on her cheeks. “We’re fine. You did it, you absolute fucking idiot.” She could feel Clarke crying into neck. Raven forced in a steadying breath, and she softened her voice. “I got you, I got you. I’m not leaving. It’s alright.”

She felt Clarke hold her tighter.

They pulled away only once Raven tried to adjust her arm and Clarke hissed, and her flinch at the contact had her instantly reeling back. Raven quickly leant away from her, but before she could even ask how bad it was Clarke was already shaking her head.

“It’s fine, it’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

Raven had felt far too many emotional extremes in the past five minutes to even bother any attempt at subtlety “He shot at you, is it the bullets?”

Clarke sighed. She was quiet a moment, and in it Raven took the chance to properly analyse her. The déjà vu she was getting was incredibly unsettling, seeing the blood at her face, across her skin, red glistening and dark. She was honestly thankfully that it was night now and it was somewhat hidden. She could almost mistake the blood for something else.

“They must not have been silver,” Clarke eventually spoke up, bringing her attention back. “I think they just… bruised.”

Raven frowned. “Can you stand?”

She only hesitated briefly before nodding. She waited until Raven stood up first—thankfully ignoring when Raven’s legs almost immediately buckled and only caught herself last minute—but she saw Clarke grimace as she pulled herself up. When she stepped back and checked over her she realise she’d been right. Amidst the blood and dirt, blue and red impacts splattered over her skin. What caught her attention most though was the blood she could see leaking just over her shoulder.

“Turn around.”

Clarke seemed to be a lot less put together than she was appearing, because she gave no resistance from the command. She merely sighed again but complied.

Raven cringed when she saw her back. There was a scar that ran from the near the top of her shoulder to the middle of her back, in line with her neck. The line was almost horizontal, dipping off at one end like a crooked finger.

“How bad is it?” Clarke murmured.

Raven took a careful step forward. She raised a hand, almost touched it, before pausing just above the wound. “It’s not pretty, but…” she laid a cautious hand on the wound to try and gently ease it open just enough to see. Clarke flinched and Raven tried to ignore it, leaning closer and seeing if she could see how deep it was.

When Raven was quiet for too long Clarke spoke up. “Can you see bone?”

She leant a little closer. “No.” It was bleeding, but sluggish. In fact, it was almost like it had had days and days to heal. Not minutes. “I think you healed the worst of it when you shifted,” she said, frowning slightly, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. Damn. No wonder werewolves feared silver over everything else.

Raven shook her head, even if Clarke couldn’t see. “I don’t think it’s too bad. It looks a lot more shallow then it seemed when he stabbed you.

“He stabbed me,” Clarke echoed, and Raven blinked when she realised it was a question.

“Oh right, yeah. Yeah, was kinda badass. I mean totally objectively of course, he was a total dick,” Raven rushed to add, wincing a little. She wasn’t too surprised to get silence in response. She cleared her throat. “But he kicked off the tree for height. He was probably aiming to jam right down into you, but you rolled as he did. Enough must have caught for it slice open when you moved.”

“Right,” she said slowly, like she was trying to imagine it.

She didn’t need to examine the back scar anymore, considering it obviously wasn’t silver she should be fine in just a few days. She’d seen her accidently cut her hand while cooking once, and the slice had been practically non-existent by next morning. But she didn’t tell her to turn back around. She didn’t think she’d have the will to get through this if they could see each other.

Too similar. It would be too similar.

“What do you remember?”

She kept her voice quiet. She only just noticed that her arm was aching. Her hand came up to clutch it, and just in her shirt and jeans she realised she was cold within the night air. There were goose bumps across her arms now, but Raven didn’t really know what was from the cold and what was from everything that had just gone down.

Shit, what had even gone down?

“Anger. I remember anger.” Her voice so soft Raven found herself leaning closer to catch it. She watched her shoulders rise and fall. “He was… he was going to do it. I couldn’t break out from Quint. I had no choice. They didn’t know, I knew that if I could turn, I could take at least one by surprise. It should have given you enough time to run.”

Raven clenched her jaw. Something flared hot in her chest, and she deliberately kept her gaze stuck on the scar across Clarke’s back. A reminder. “It was incredibly fucking stupid.”

Clarke didn’t say anything.

“You could have killed me. You know that, right? You almost did. I thought… I really thought that was it. I watched you tear into him and knew that that was going to be me. Your stupid, _stupid_ fucking decision almost killed us both.”

Clarke was quiet a while before whispering, “I know.”

Raven closed her eyes. Her teeth were gritted so tight it ached. There was a lot more she wanted to say, and a lot worse. But honestly she was exhausted, and currently they were still standing out in the middle of nowhere within a clearing with two dead bodies—they couldn’t get into this, not here, not now.

But still, Raven opened her eyes. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat before carefully touching Clarke’s shoulder, urging her to turn back around. She resisted at first, hesitation almost palpable, until eventually she gave in and let her.

“How’d you do it?” she asked, once they’d met eyes again. She wasn’t too shocked to see Clarke’s eyes were wet. “You shifted back. Do you remember? You were right in front of me.”

“I saw you.”

Raven’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Clarke glanced away. Her hand curled into a fist only to unravel a second later. “It’s… it’s hard to explain. I just—I _felt_ it. I made it turn. Opened the door. The anger, it was so intense. I felt it bleed through. I tried to hold on it to though, to feel it.” She frowned. “And I just… I got your scent. Felt your fear. I saw you, for just a second. But it was enough. I fought against it, dragged it back in and closed the door.”

“Door?”

Clarke blinked, brought her sight back at least and met stares. “Oh, uh… metaphorically. Sort of. Mental thing.” She cleared her throat. “Lexa showed me.”

“Ah,” Raven nodded slowly. “Right.”

Now that they were face to face Clarke seemed to finally take notice that Raven was holding her arm. The moment Raven realised she’d seen she instantly let go but it was too late, Clarke was already stepping closer and gently pulling her arm towards her.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing on your scar, don’t worry.” Clarke didn’t seem to appreciate her remark. She glanced up with a glare that was so normal it felt surreal and out of place. She shrugged her arm out of Clarke’s grip. “It’s fine. Seriously. Just a bullet graze, I’ll survive.”

“It’s bruised pretty bad,” Clarke noted, still eying it, and this time Raven was the one glaring at her.

“Tends to happen when a massive fucking werewolf attacks you.”

Clarke’s gaze snapped up to hers. “Did I bite you?”

Her eyes widened. “No, no, you’re fine. You rammed me, pretty sure. But that’s it. Bite free.”

She watched the relief flood through her, body deflating gratefully at the knowledge. “Okay. Okay, good.”

Nothing about this was good. But by the way Clarke grimaced, she figured she knew that too.

Clarke only held her eyes for a few seconds before looking away again. Her gaze wandered to behind her though, and Raven knew the moment Clarke found the bodies when her shoulders tensed. She was still for a strained beat, not even seeming to breathe before she suddenly broke away. She tried to catch Clarke’s arm to stop her but missed, and so she was left to helplessly trail after her as Clarke strode over to where Tristan was, slowing to a stop as she circled his body.

Raven didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t look at the bodies long enough without getting sick, and Clarke seemed coherent enough at least right now but frankly, she was just waiting for her to check out. It was a good sign she hadn’t immediately dissolved but really Raven was counting down the minutes—and inspecting the very damage Clarke had done would surely only worsen things.

“Clarke, don’t—”

She knelt down by him. Her eyes searched him up and down—they paused the most on the stomach, the ripped flesh—jaw clenched tight enough Raven was sure they were going to break, when she reached a slow hand forward and closed his eyes. She sat by him for a long minute. Then, releasing a shaky exhale, she stood up.

Raven’s mouth opened but she didn’t know what to say. The last time she’d felt this lost and helpless was with Finn. She was both tired but on edge, exhausted to the bone but amped up on anxiety and fear, far too terrified to know what she’d see if she dared close her eyes long enough.

So she said the only thing she could think to say.

“What do we do?”

Clarke glanced to the body of Quint that was behind Raven. “How did you get here? You said he had hit you, before.” She nodded in Quint’s direction.

Raven avoided look at him. She didn’t know what would happen if she did. “Waited out by work. When I got in my truck, he came in and put a gun to my head. Told me where to drive. He had my keys, I’d gotten them before, but then you were there and I must have…” she made the mistake of glancing at him then, to see if she could spot the keys, but the sight of his mangled body and the memory was all too much. “Oh fuck.”

She couldn’t hold it back anymore and she threw up. She backed away as much as she could, but the stench was still too thick in her nose.

Clarke was suddenly next to her, features drawn and concerned. “You alright?” she asked, seeming to wince a little considering it was quite obvious that nothing about this was even _close_ to alright. At Raven’s silence Clarke appeared to just swallow and move past it. “Your keys, they’re near him?”

She brought her hand up to her mouth, only managing a nod. Her eyes closed and she focused on anything but the reality around her. Ignored the smell. The sight. The memory. Faintly she caught the sounds of Clarke’s searching, the wind rustle through tree leaves, the soft crack of her knees when she crouched down.

A light touch at her shoulder had her jumping. Her eyes snapped open but she saw it was only Clarke, not some new attacker, immediately raising her hands and stepping back.

“Just me,” she assured, and at Raven’s nod lowered only one of her hands, revealing in the other she held the car keys. “Do you remember where you came from?”

Raven waited for her heart rate to come back down. It barely did. “Deer’s head was facing left.”

Clarke bobbed her head. “Alright. Take this.” She handed her the knife that had gotten her before. Raven hadn’t seen her pick it up. “Stay near me. They probably acted alone, but we can’t be sure. If we get separated and you’re in danger, scream.”

Raven scowled. “Scream? What am I, a dumb blonde in a horror movie?”

Clarke shot her a very unimpressed look. “Because then I know you’re actually in danger. I’ve only heard you scream once in my life. Hence, it can’t be mistaken.”

It made sense. Raven was still wildly against it, but considering Clarke was someone who had quite literally just ripped two men apart and was still doused in their remains, she made it really difficult to argue with her right now.

She seemed to hear her unspoken agreement, nodding at her before turning and walking in the direction she had come. Meaning Raven was left cursing and hurrying after her. “Hey, where the hell are you going Clarke? You seriously cannot just walk away from this—”

“I’m not.”

Raven swore again. She grabbed her shoulder and forced her to stop, spinning her around. “Then what the fuck are you doing?”

Clarke’s eyes were far harder than she was expecting. Enough so that Raven stepped back, not at all expecting the burning that was suddenly there, almost as dark as the shadows around them.

“I’m making sure this never happens again.”

-

She followed his scent.

It had faded with the time passed, but luckily she still managed to catch it. She mentioned for Raven to stay close again—earning another glare from her—before walking in through the woods. She was so on edge it was like she was going to burst. The possible threat of there being more than Tristan and Quint was enough to have her cautious, ears pricked for sound and always scenting a little too deep of the air.

She could feel it. The panic, the shutdown; it hung around the corners of her mind like a predator scouring for the weak in a herd, waiting for the moment to break through. But there was certain sick familiarity with it, and with that, she kept herself here. For there was something she needed to do.

The blood was getting cold on her skin. She could taste it on her teeth. And there was a seething, brewing up right underneath it all, the purpose of what she needed to do. No matter how much Raven was going to completely disagree with it. It wouldn’t change it though, nothing would.

The worst part was the familiarity.

She didn’t know how long they ended up walking for, no words between them. Clarke’s eyes were constantly flicking around, never stationary for long and attracted to any burst of sound. It only really consisted of birds rustling the leaves in taking off when they passed by, the occasional squirrel skittering through. Harmless noises, and yet every one made her tense.

She slowed her pace as she noticed the trees tapering off. Her knees bent, glancing back to Raven to find she had mimicked.

“Stay here,” she whispered. Raven of course was almost instantly breaking into an argument over that, but Clarke was already cutting her off. “ _Here_ Raven. If I yell, run.”

Raven’s glare became a little harsher, but she conceded and nodded. “Fine. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Clarke didn’t have the strength to throw anything back. If she stood still for too long, she knew she’d break. She focused back to in front, careful as she shuffled forward. She strained her hearing for any catches of sound but there was nothing. A sniff brought the same answer.

She was still slow as she crept out of the trees. The grass spread from under her bare feet, but when she straightened and glanced around, she saw no one. “Alright, it’s clear.” She called, not needing to check behind her when she could hear Raven’s approaching steps. Instead she walked over to where Raven’s truck was parked, a knot untying in her chest at seeing it still intact. She wordlessly held out the keys and Raven grabbed them as she drifted past.

Raven smiled—though small and weak, Clarke was relieved to see her smile at all—as she approached her truck, running an affectionate hand across the hood. “Hey gorgeous, they didn’t hurt you did they?”

“Have you still got the spare clothes under the seat?”

Raven gave her truck one last pat before unlocking it, not looking at her while she nodded. She glanced away as Raven opened the passenger door and bent down to retrieve clothes. Clarke watched the road near them. There were no signs, just the woods bracketing the tarmac. It was empty too, no sight of any vehicles coming by, but as her gaze slid off to the side she could see another car parked.

It was black and a SUV of some sort. She frowned. She couldn’t remember exactly how she got here, though she was pretty sure she had a blurred memory of being lay down in a back seat. Something tight and cold around her wrists from behind. Lights flashing past in the car window.

The car was probably Tristan’s then. When she circled it around the back, she noticed the boot seemed to be relatively big. It would work better than Raven’s. Though they couldn’t take this and leave the truck here. Clarke sighed. She’d most likely have to drive this and have Raven follow her with the truck.

“Hey, got your clothes.” Clarke tore her gaze off the car at Raven’s voice, spotting the pile in Raven’s hands. They were some of the stuff they’d gotten a week ago.

“Thanks,” she murmured, taking the clothes. It was a mostly mindless process putting them on, though she grimaced and bit back her grunts at the sharp tugging from the knife wound when she pulled the shirt over. She felt something wet trickle down her back and figured the changing must have aggravated it a little. It wasn’t like it meant much anyway. Sure, it was a persistent dull ache that hadn’t left since she’d shifted back, but it was also that. Dull.

Considering everything else she could feel, it was like it wasn’t there.

Shifting seemed to have healed her injuries from before, too. She found no limp in her step, no pain from where the fork had stabbed her. And the spot where the glass shard had pierced her held no ache, so she assumed the flesh there had knitted itself back together as well. It should have been a good thing, but Clarke felt no relief from it. She felt nothing really. It was almost numb, but not completely, like a bowl riddled in cracks that was struggling to hold water.

“Hey.”

Clarke blinked at Raven’s voice, tearing her gaze off from where she’d been mindlessly staring at the empty road. Her eyes ached. Shit, how long had she even been looking for?

“Yeah?” she called back, but when she turned around to face her she saw Raven was frowning.

Raven’s eyes jumped her up and down. “You alright?”

Clarke’s gaze unintentionally shifted to the trees. To the bodies waiting for her. “Do you want an honest answer for that?” she muttered, bringing her sight back.

Raven sighed. She didn’t say anything, just clenched her jaw and walked back over to her truck. She opened the door, grabbed something from inside—an old worn hoodie from college, by the looks of it—bunching it in her hands and heading towards her. When she made a move to hand it over, Clarke didn’t make comment at seeing the hoodie was shaking slightly.

“To clean the blood,” Raven said, when Clarke hadn’t immediately taken it. At seeing that Clarke _still_ wasn’t grabbing it her brow furrowed. “Clarke. It’s fine we’ll… we can clean it. Probably. Worst case we can just find another one online if you’re desperate.”

But Clarke stepped back. “No. Not yet. I don’t need it.”

Raven’s frowned deepened, though her eyes became a little harder. “Clarke you… listen, I don’t care if the—the bodies are too messed up to ever be connected to you because… there’s no way a person could be accused of doing _that_.” She paused then, a shudder going through her and Clarke had to swallow whatever was suddenly trying to claw up her throat. Raven forced a breath, continuing on, even if Clarke had never heard her voice shake like that in years. “If _anyone_ sees you right now, you’re done. You… sort of look like a cannibal.”

A wave of nausea hit her hard. She had to step back, look away, try with every fibre of her not to just throw up right there—and she didn’t even want to _think_ what would come out—shut her eyes and keep her breathing stable. Worse though, she had to wrangle her thoughts.

It was all too much.

“Oh shit, sorry I—” Clarke opened her eyes to glance at her, and it was obvious the regret and discomfort on Raven’s face. “I didn’t—fuck. Shit. Sorry.”

Clarke waited until it was safe to speak again without getting sick. She shook her head, and her voice came out strained. “It’s fine just… it’s fine. Look, I need you to do something. Put the hoodie back in the car. You’re going to stay here, keep a watch on a road. If you see a car coming, whistle once. When it’s clear again whistle twice.” Raven’s frown was back, but Clarke kept going. Tried to find strength in just having something to do. “I’m… I’ll get the bodies. I’ll be back.”

She hadn’t even taken one step until Raven was moving in front of her, looking more confused than anything. “Clarke, hey, what do you mean? It’ll look like an animal attack. Seriously. Let’s just leave it and go home.”

“No. Stay here and keep lookout. I’ll be back.”

She tried to walk past her but Raven grabbed her elbow. She only just bit down the snarl that wanted to break out. It was too close, it had been less than an hour since she’d turned, but a sliver of the sound must have escaped because Raven abruptly let go and backed away.

Clarke deliberately softened her stance, tried to come across as calm— _human_ —and not the bloodthirsty thing she’d just been. “Raven. Trust me. Just do what I say, alright? Please.”

Raven ground her teeth, but after a long tense moment she nodded, sighing through her nose as she stepped to the side. “Be quick.” She muttered as Clarke moved past, and Clarke bobbed her head, throwing a last glance over her shoulder at the road in one final paranoid check it was clear.

It was far easier finding the bodies then it was finding the cars. The scent of blood was almost pungent in their air, overwhelming and thick, and having to focus on it to find her way back made her skin itch and crawl. Though in all honesty, she didn’t know whether it was in the urge to turn again or if it was just from being so deeply unsettled.

It was probably both.

She slowed as she came into the clearing. Paused for a moment too long, taking them in. She only started moving again when she heard a twig snap—her head jerked behind her, but she saw it was just a fox. It hid in the trees, just at the edge of the clearing, and while it had been inching forward before, now that they’d caught stares it didn’t move.

She squinted, and realised there was blood on its muzzle.

“Gonna have to scavenge something else,” she muttered under her breath, and when she heaved a sigh and started trudging over to Tristan’s body she heard the flutter of paws and the bushes rustle. It had bolted.

It was difficult getting Tristan back.

The first time after she’d picked him up, hooked under his arms and hauled him back, she only lasted less than a minute before she had to abandon and stumble for the bushes. On the third time, she managed to slip his arm over her shoulder to hold him up, and while her stomach was churning and there was horrid taste in her mouth, she finally kept steady, the trees quiet as she carried him.

There was no whistle. She came out of the woods, grunting as she slid his arm off and laid him carefully on the ground. Raven’s eyes snapped to her, widening and her face somehow going paler, but soon she was gritting her teeth and cautiously walking towards her anyway.

Clarke kneeled by him. She felt for his pockets—her fingers shook, but she pretended they didn’t—her shoulders relaxing by a fraction when she managed to find his car keys.

“Rae,” she called, tilting her head to urge her to come next to her. Raven hesitated, arms crossed tight over her chest, but when Clarke called her name again she sighed and came until she was standing just by her. Clarke handed her the keys. “Unlock the boot and open it.”

Raven took the keys from her, though she was wary and frowning. “We’re taking the bodies?”

Clarke didn’t answer. She slid her arms under him, one under the legs and the other supporting the back. She stood up with a grunt, Raven swearing but hurrying over to his car when she started towards it. There was a _click_ and the car lights flashed. Raven hastened to open the boot up in time for Clarke to round the vehicle, but when she neared it she was gentle as she laid him down, adjusting so none of his limbs were caught outside. As she stepped back she closed the boot—she did it slowly, just in case it’d hit something and couldn’t shut—checking the road over her shoulder again.

“That’s one down I guess,” Raven murmured, and while Clarke glanced at her she didn’t say anything in response.

Quint she had to drag. She caught the scent of the fox again, but while she heard the leaves shuffle as it ran she didn’t catch sight of it. She grabbed Quint by the leg and trudged through the woods, did her best to ignore how her skin was itching now, the blood drying even if the night air was cool enough she’d noticed Raven rubbing her arms. She wanted to get it off as soon as possible. It brought up a bad, _bad_ sense of deji vu, but she couldn’t do it yet. She knew she looked at least a little terrifying right now, and she had intention to use that.

When she found herself facing a growing chill, but a coldness that hid just under her skin and slipped into the splinters in her bones, she started counting her steps. Focused on her hearing, on whatever glimpse of sound she could. The flutter of the leaves. The thud of her own steps. The softer pad from behind, further back and softened by well-aimed steps on dirt grass. The fox was trailing her. Something tugged at the corners of her lips, but it was weak and small and seemed to abandon for better things midway.

She was just approaching the last of trees when she heard a low whistle. Clarke stilled, crouched down. She crept just a little closer, reaching out and resting her hand against a tree as she leant forwards, squinting, trying to see through the dark.

An engine rumbled. There was the sharp crackle of tires on tarmac, and not long after Clarke watched a pair of headlights flash over as a car drove past. She stayed hidden within the woods, and she didn’t move even once the lights had fully passed and she couldn’t hear the car anymore. A few minutes later, Raven’s whistle came again, twice in signal it was clear.

She adjusted her hold she so she was carrying him like she had Tristan before. He was heavy, though thankfully supernatural strength seemed to save her from the worst of it, but still she hurried her pace as she emerged out the trees and bee lined for the car.

It was a tight fit. But they managed it, Clarke’s shoulders finally slumping when she closed the boot and nothing caught.

“Alright.” She breathed, nodding to herself. “Give me the keys. You get in yours, I’ll drive out and then you follow me.”

Raven scowled at her. “What the hell is your game plan here, Clarke? You’re not turning yourself in to the cops, are you?”

Clarke sighed. She glanced to her, and after giving her a long pointed stare Raven at least handed her the keys. “No. We’re…”

She closed her eyes. Clenched her fists. Let them unravel.

“We’re stopping this at the source.” She eventually muttered, and she found that burn, that anger and fury and she clutched it tight under her ribs. Her gaze flicked to Raven, and she knew she’d caught on when her eyes widened and she blinked at her.

“Clarke, are you _insane_? You literally just—you just fucking _killed_ two of her own—of _her_ pack—and you want to dump the bodies at her door while covered in their fucking blood?”

But Clarke kept resolute, and Raven seemed to realise she really wasn’t getting anywhere when Clarke’s face didn’t change, when the resolve stayed and only firmed in her eyes. Raven spun away with a curse, slammed her hand against the car hood. She swore again, but in pain this time, as she had unthinkingly used the arm bullet-grazed and bruised.

Clarke waited it out, only stood there and watched her. Raven stopped, her shoulders deflating, and she ran her hand over her face. “And if she wants revenge?” she murmured, though there was no bite in her voice anymore. Raven led her back fall into the car, turning her head to look at her, waved a hand in defeated resignation. “You got a plan for that?”

“Depends.”

Raven narrowed her eyes. “On what?” she pushed, but her voice was wary now.

Clarke shrugged. “If she ordered it.”

-

They drove in separate cars.

Clarke took the one with the bodies, Raven followed behind in her own. She glanced at the time, red blinking numbers that warned her it was almost midnight. She took the back roads. The one’s where there was barely any light and even the locals steered clear of. Niylah had told her once, about a year after moving here, that it used to be not as barren as it was now. The roads followed and hung near the edges of the forest, and teenagers and other idiot youths used to regularly use the woods and empty roads for activities that’d be sure to be regretted the next day.

They stopped after her and Raven moved here.

Howls, they’d say. The longest, most monstrous howl you would ever hear. Even though muffled it still rung through. Rumours circled. A pack of wolves must have strayed near, settled home in the stretches and stretches of woods and dead roads. No one ever saw but everyone _heard_.

Of course, she knew the real reason. They hadn’t had the cell she had now when she’d first moved here, and had been forced to settle in a heavy stoned crypt within a graveyard that sat abandoned and forgotten somewhere in the woods. The only thing she really remembered about it was the smell of cold, mossy stone. She’d almost broken her shoulder once when she’d slammed through the metal bars and kept trying to repeatedly throw herself into the thick smooth rock in an attempt of escape.

Small towns were easily suspicious and once the rumours spread of monstrous, strained howling, where you could almost _hear_ the bloodlust, they suddenly steered far, far clear. Especially now since the girl had been killed, by what had been deemed a pack of feral dogs or wolves, a monstrous, vicious horde of _something_ wild that tore humans apart like they were nothing.

You didn’t need a pack to be monstrous though.

A single lone monster is enough.

-

It was around half past midnight when they got there.

She pulled up in their driveway. For just a second, in the moment right after the engine died and the rumbling fell away, Clarke closed her eyes and forced a breath. It trembled and so did her chest. Her skin wasn’t so much itching now as it was _burning_. She was almost tempted to claw her skin off with her nails, sure that that would be the only way to satisfy the disturbing sensation.

She didn’t.

Clarke shoved open the car door and got out. She glanced behind her, and saw Raven do the same.

“Stay in the car, Raven.”

Her voice hadn’t been so cold and tight like that in a long while. The cold only spread though, icy veins spreading out from her heart into lungs and down into the flesh of her bones. If she hadn’t of shifted so recently, she thought she would have again.

Raven glared at her, still clutching her arm. “Fat chance in hell. Fuck you.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, but this wasn’t the fight she wanted, so she only clenched her jaw and forced a steadying breath. “Stay behind me. Don’t say anything, and I _mean_ it Reyes.”

Raven still looked pissed at being ordered around, but she glanced over Clarke’s shoulders and the reality of it seemed to motivate her enough to know when to concede and take your winnings. She nodded, begrudgingly, but Clarke took it.

Clarke turned around. She eyed the house and prepared for what was to come. Her gaze fell to the wolf fountain, almost black with no light like this. The quiet trickle of the water and smell of wet stone on any other day would have been calming. Instead, Clarke scanned the ground and picked up a large rock that she was just able to fit in one hand, trudged over to the fountain, and brought it down to smash the edge of the stone.

Raven hissed at her, eyes wide, and Clarke carelessly dropped the rock to the ground before glancing to her.

“To wake them up.” She explained, but Raven just looked at her like she’d lost her mind.

Clarke glanced down at her blood soaked hands and wondered if she had.

Numerous windows in the house suddenly lit up. She heard the sound of cursing, panicked shoutings and the flurried, chaotic sound of rushing steps, disoriented limbs too roughly torn from sleep banging more surfaces than they missed. Clarke looked behind her and saw Raven had drifted closer until she was an arms length away from her. She watched her face, but the fear was quickly smothered from her expression and it settled into a harsh sort of scowl.

Clarke looked back at the front when the front door slammed open. Anya came bursting through, stumbling and her appearance dishevelled enough it was obvious she’d been wrenched from sleep only seconds ago. She came out with a gun raised and snarl on her lips, but she stopped dead at the sight of Clarke.

Her eyes widened, she even gaped a little. The gun lowered, but only by a fraction.

Clarke stood still and said nothing.

The rest came bursting out moments later. Some came around the side of the house, and she even caught the familiar cracks and snaps of bone, where not long after a hulking wolf came stalking out from the right side of the house. With the only light coming from windows in the house their fur almost came across as pitch black within the night, white fanged teeth sticking out like it was gleaming.

The rest of them came running out. Clarke ignored the furious, animal snarls that were thrown at her, though some felt confused, unsure of exactly _why_ but only smelling blood and violence and reacting accordingly.

When Indra came out, Lexa following closely after, she gave the same reaction of Anya. Stopping dead, the shock rolling over, and the slow, mounting realisation that only a select few knew of. Clarke saw most of the looks being given to her were more just _shock_ , of how the hell a mutt with barely a months training was looking like she’d slaughtered an army.

They looked at her like it shouldn’t have been possible, but Anya and Indra looked at her like it’d only been a matter of time.

Maybe it had been. A cage would always eventually break, no matter the effort to ensure it would never.

The front porch lights flashed on. The pack formed a line of sorts, though some were scattered off to the side and placed in positions should an attack break out they wouldn’t be easy to take down in one clean sweep. Lexa pushed her way through, her pace slowing as she came towards her, eyes frantically scanning her up and down.

Clarke stood still and said nothing.

She stopped a handful of metres off her. Her breathing was picking up like she’d been sprinting a marathon, even if she’d only barely walked. Clarke stared directly at her, grinding her teeth to the point she briefly wondered if she’d be left with bone dust in her mouth.

Whoever had shifted—Clarke tore her gaze from Lexa, for just a moment, to watch them and sniffed the air to realise it was Nyko—continued the low growling, and it was only echoed by the others of the pack. Lexa was silent, and when they met sights again, Clarke thought that she knew everything without having said a word.

Lexa blinked, and pulled in a strangled breath.

Clarke turned around. Raven followed, still keeping an arms length from her, as she seemed to have realised that pride was not worth the risk of being mauled by a pack of vengeful werewolves. She rounded the boot and jerked it open. The rank smell of dying flesh and blood hit in a wave, but worse was the disturbing way it didn’t actually make her feel sick but settled in her stomach with a feral, gnawing type of hunger.

She hooked her arms under the body’s own and hauled him out. Tristan’s feet limply hit the ground as she pulled him, and she grit her teeth before grabbing him by the neck at the back of his shirt and dragged. She stopped until she was standing where she had before, unceremoniously dropping him while her eyes didn’t shift from Lexa’s the entire way.

There were harsher snarls this time. Enraged and stunned, but as Clarke turned around again she heard Lexa snap out a warning to keep back that seemed to work, somehow. She grabbed Quint the same way. Dragged him behind her and watched Lexa the entire time. She dropped his body by Tristan’s, only casting a single glance at them—she ignored the twist in her stomach, the _heave_ —before stepping back, and staring at Lexa.

“I warned you.”

Lexa’s face gave nothing away. But Clarke saw her swallow, her eyes still not stopping in scanning over her like they didn’t know what to focus on. The blood or the tone or the way it felt they stood as two opposing armies where war was gnawing and scratches at the doors, and the splinters in the locks were starting to appear. Where they waited on which side would break in first.

Clarke’s stare remained locked on her, and for a beat no one else but the two of them might have existed. “Any who tried to kill her I would kill.”

Lexa took a step forward, slow, and burning with a leashed type of fury. “You have slaughtered my own.” She muttered, her voice colder than Clarke had ever heard.

“Yours tried to kill mine.”

“You think this deserved?”

Clarke wrestled the urge to bare her own teeth. She only barely kept her voice on the human side of a snarl. “I was left no choice.” She snapped. “But I would do it again to protect my own.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “And just how were you left with no choice?”

Clarke stared at her. The silence was thick and so stifling with tension the air was liable to explode in a furious, frustrated snap at any second. Lexa stared back, and even though Clarke could just _feel_ how her pack wanted to lunge forward and tear her apart, it seemed even they feared something like Lexa’s silence.

“Did you order for Raven to be killed?”

Silence again.

Clarke’s fingers curled in until her nails were biting into palm. “Did you order it?” she said again, harder and sharper this time, and while Lexa showed no obvious reaction her pack were not the same. They all stiffened, because Clarke’s tone was becoming too low and too animal and too reminiscent of the blood she could still taste on her teeth.

But Lexa only let the silence press on for another suffocating minute before she spoke. “No.” She answered, her voice unreadable in its tone. “No. I ordered no such thing. Whatever Tristan and Quint had done, they acted on their own.”

Clarke watched her, straining her hearing for any signs of lying. She didn’t think Lexa would be easy to read for lying anyway, and probably was the type where you didn’t know she’d lied until it was already far too late that realising wouldn’t mean anything.

But they had been drifting closer in a way that was unable to spoken, and as Clarke watched her, noted her, everything down the twitch in her finger: she knew she spoke the truth.

For a moment, the ice burn festering under her ribs was replaced with a slow spread of relieved warmth, and no matter how brief it wracked through her body with the intensity of being pierced by a silver bullet.

“I will ask you only once again, Clarke. What left you no choice?”

Clarke wondered how the next few seconds would go. She had gotten her confirmation at least, that this was not something Lexa wanted. She pretended that wasn’t as relieving at was. Now though, for the first time since she’d stepped foot here on the second worst night of her life, she wondered if she would have been better off to just run.

Whether she’d live the next few seconds, that was something Clarke didn’t know.

She really wished Raven had just stayed in the goddamn car.

Clarke swallowed, the first outward sign of nerves she’d shown. “Quint held me down while Tristan put a gun to Raven’s head.” Lexa blinked, slowly, and Clarke thought she knew where this would end. “They wanted to kill her to put me into… _Jusgafen_ ,” the world tasted unfamiliar in her mouth, but she assumed she’d succeeded when she watched as every single one of them stiffened. “Apparently you have a law to kill anyone found in one. They wanted to exploit that.”

Lexa actually looked away. Clarke almost frowned, especially when all her pack were looking to Lexa now, like they all knew something obvious that she didn’t. It took a moment, but Clarke saw the twitch in Lexa’s trembling jaw and the fact her fists were almost white-knuckled clenched now, and she came to the conclusion that Lexa was an absolutely terrifying shade of fury.

“ _Jusgafen_ ,” she muttered, finally glancing back at her. It felt like a question. Clarke nodded.

Lexa glanced away again, but before she could say anymore Ryder suddenly burst forward. His face was twisted into a truly enraged snarl, almost spitting at the mouth, teeth exposed and his voice a savage, burning thing.

“Lying mutt, you _slaughter_ my pack and _dare_ to pretend you deserve mercy.” He spat, breaking forward so roughly he shoved Lincoln out of his path. Lexa snapped at him, warned him to get back but Ryder didn’t listen and continued stalking forward.

Clarke didn’t move when he was suddenly just an arms length from her, panting so heavy his shoulders kept rising and falling like he was going to explode. Lexa yelled at him again, but Clarke ignored her. She stared him dead in the eye, watching his eyes wildly flick back and forth between her own, eager violence shining on his teeth.

It would have made anyone terrified, probably, to instinctively back away and stand down from something that looked so much like a ferocious, starving beast trapped in human skin.

But he was not the only beast.

Clarke stepped forward until she was close enough they came nose to nose. “Do you think you scare me?” she murmured, and Ryder’s lip only curled higher until he truly looked like a wolf snarling at her with human teeth.

“I will _tear_ you limb from limb and bathe in your blood, filthy mutt.” He hissed, and Lexa’s snap was far sharper this time. They both ignored her.

Clarke tilted her head. “Your pack mate’s blood is still warm on my teeth. What makes you think I will not do the same to you?”

Ryder’s face twisted further, but his eyes drifted to over her shoulder and they lingered for a second too long.

Clarke shoved him back so suddenly and with such force he almost fell. He staggered back but Clarke moved with it, grabbing his arm and without thinking throwing him over her back and into the ground. She dropped onto him and dug her knee into his throat. Shouts erupted around her, loud and desperate for _something_ but Lexa’s warning snarl was something even demons would hesitate at and none moved for her.

“You will look at _me_.” She growled viciously at him, and though he attempted to growl right back and pushed uselessly at her knee to shove it off his throat, it did nothing. She didn’t move, and she kept pushing until his face was almost as red as the blood on her skin and only Lexa’s sharp snap of _Clarke_ had her begrudgingly releasing him.

She got off him. He instantly began coughing, rolling over and taking in desperate lungful’s of air. It scared her for a moment, when she had to fight back the instinct to do _more_ , an urge that was entirely beast and nothing else. Her wolf so close, so _close_ , and there was a second where she genuinely feared she’d provoked too much and it would try to break out again. The taste of blood and a hunt was something so, so rare she could feel it like an oncoming wave just how _badly_ it didn’t want stop at the guilty parties.

But Clarke looked up and met Lexa’s gaze, and she thought the idea of turning _here_ , where Lexa would probably be made to kill her and hate every second of it.

Lexa looked at her like she knew, and Clarke released a slow, trembling breath.

Ryder scrambled to his feet, still coughing the last of the crushing off his lungs. He was still fuming, and looked about ready to forget all restraint and go for her right there, but Lexa snatched his arm in a harsh grip and yanked him back. He stumbled, Lexa letting him go so abruptly he almost didn’t balance himself time.

“You would do well to obey your alpha next time.” She snarled at him, and Ryder actually backed away a step. But then his eyes flicked out to meet Clarke’s, and in a heartbeat the rage was back and he came forward, already opening his mouth to what would no doubt be something he’d regret.

But Lexa beat him to it.

“She acted in self-defence, and if I find _any_ of you to move against her after what Tristan and Quint have done you will not live past the rise of dawn.”

“Heda,” Indra whispered, the first one to speak, but Lexa’s silencing glare had her abruptly shutting her mouth. Even if she ground her teeth and looked like she severely wanted to hit something.

The silence was heavy enough to drown in, but eventually Lexa spoke again. “I went with Indra to your apartment after you called.” She said, looking back at her, and Clarke’s brow creased as she took the information in.

She watched her warily, still not sure if Lexa actually meant that she apparently believed she acted in self-defence. “You won’t kill me, then?”

Lexa stared at her hard.

“This cycle of violence is done,” she eventually muttered quietly, and Clarke released the breath she hadn’t realised had gotten trapped. Something hardened in Lexa’s gaze. “You swear all of what you have said is true?”

“Over my father’s grave.”

Their stares held for an agonising amount of minutes. Clarke knew that Lexa was doing what she had before. Determining if her word was enough and was true and nothing less. The intensity of her gaze gave her the sudden irrational urge to fidget, but Clarke stood still and said nothing and held her stare.

Lexa must have found her answer, because her shoulders relaxed by a fraction and she nodded. Ryder made another frustrated snarl again, but it was strangled and bitten down. Despite the fact that the tension should have eased at the proclamation, it only increased. She finally let her gaze shift off Lexa and glanced around the pack that all stared at her with looks that appeared _far_ from resolved.

“If a similar attempt is ever made again, I will not stop at the guilty parties.” Clarke warned, and with that final threat, she met Lexa’s eyes for one last time before she stepped back. She almost turned around and left without anything further, but for once, for just this moment, because while it had hurt and would no doubt be the source of her nightmares the next few years, her wolf had saved her— _them_ —no matter how much she could deny it. She retracted her step and looked down at the bodies near her feet.

Her eyes shifted up to meet Ryder’s, and holding his gaze she spat on them.

Her wolf could have its posturing bullshit for this. She could relent on that.

And with nothing left to hold her, Clarke ignored how they all stiffened, how Ryder seemed to be chewing his own tongue off to prevent anything else from leaving his mouth, and walked away. Raven trailed behind her, and she didn’t glance back as they both got into Raven’s truck and pulled out of the driveway. She fell back into the seat with a sigh so heavy and old it left her trying to work out how she’d gotten to the point where she could even make a sound like that.

Clarke closed her eyes and wondered if in another world the earth didn’t spin as violently as it did here.

-

By the time they’d finally made it home, she honestly felt just about ready to topple over.

With the adrenaline now drained from her system, the panic and the fear and the fury long lost; she was left with a bone-deep tiredness that was slowly consuming her like there were hands on her shoulders that were steadily pushing down heavier and heavier. The fact that she didn’t pass out in the drive back home, that she instead tried—with only partial success, mind—to wipe the blood from her visible skin was an impressive feat in itself.

She got enough off that from a distance no one should be able to tell. Raven had ended up lending her jacket she’d found crammed under the driver’s seat, meaning Clarke was able to salvage the hoodie so it could hang low over her head. They pulled in quick, Clarke kept her head down the entire way, and they ended up using the stairwell as a precaution.

They’d almost made it to the top without being caught when the door to their floor suddenly opened. She froze, but then she was quickly faking a sneeze, brought her hands to her face as if to prevent the spread of germs, when really it was to conceal her appearance. The person who’d come through—a short man, old, the one who lived right at the end of corridor and who was so withdrawn her and Raven had sometimes only half joked about whether he was even real—startled at seeing them, but they hadn’t spend their entire teen years together without learning how to support one another in a lie quicker than truth.

“She’s sick, don’t let yourself catch it,” Raven warned, putting her arm around Clarke’s shoulder in what should appear as comforting, and not a way to further obscure her.

She faked another sneeze. Threw in a cough for good measure. The old man’s face twisted and he grunted something that she couldn’t tell if it was actually a word or not, shuffling past them as fast as an elderly man could. When he passed them her and Raven hurried up the last of the steps, and when they’d cleared it and opened the stairway door they both exhaled in relief at seeing the hallway empty.

As they walked Clarke couldn’t help but lean closer to Raven. “What’s an old man like that taking the stairs instead of the elevator?”

Raven looked just about bewildered as she felt. “Are we _sure_ the guy’s not like, a cursed deity that’s been exiled to live in solitude within the mortal realm?”

She let out a weak laugh, small and quiet but really it was an achievement she even managed to make the sound. “Maybe,” Clarke conceded, and she shrugged. “If werewolves are on the table, who knows what else is?”

The mention of wolves seemed to sober them slightly. Raven didn’t offer a reply.

The moment Clarke walked in through the door—ignoring Raven’s annoyed exclaim at seeing the door was broken _again_ —she was stilling, taking in a deep pull of the air. She sighed.

“What is it?” Raven asked, though once she had actually managed to tear away from the broken door, muttering the entire time under her breath about how they had _just_ gotten it fixed, she came to an abrupt halt and her eyes went wide. “Woah, did a pack of monkeys have a gangbang in here?”

“She wasn’t lying.” Clarke murmured, ignoring Raven’s comment. “Indra and her have been here.”

Raven took a cautious step forward, seeming to walk around where there were bloodstains on the carpet. “You can smell them?”

Clarke hummed. She closed the door behind her, her gaze drifting up to where her room was. And the shower. God, her skin _itched_ like hell, and even if that exhaustion was growing more overwhelming with very passing breath she didn’t want to sleep like this. She’d had enough experience of that.

But her gaze drifted back to Raven. To the mess of an apartment. Though when Clarke’s eyes narrowed and she looked a little closer, she saw there’d actually been an effort to tidy it up some. Not much, but the shattered remains of the chair leg had been kicked into a single pile, the kitchenware that had sat on the table that’d gone falling off when Clarke went sliding across was all placed back on top. The silver bullet was gone too, no longer lying on the carpet surrounded by blood. It wasn’t too surprising really to realise Lexa had taken it.

There was no way she had the energy to start cleaning it now. She needed a shower, _some_ attempt of a nap at least. But there was one thing she could do, and had to, considering that it was her fault anyway.

“Come on,” Clarke called to Raven, bringing back her attention from where she’d been examining the broken surroundings with a raised brow. “I’ll patch up your arm.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “It’s fine, Clarke. You’re practically swaying on your feet.”

Clarke sighed. “Rae. I’m bandaging your arm.”

“It’s _barely_ a graze Clarke.” Raven scowled at her, and it only deepened when Clarke came forward and grabbed her elbow—the non-injured one—and started dragging her for the bathroom. “Hey it’s—”

“Then it’ll be quick, won’t it?” Clarke quirked a brow, and maybe she wasn’t the only one battling exhaustion, because in a rare sight Raven just sighed and actually let her pull her. It was so jarring the quick defeat that she actually paused, but then Raven’s scowl was beginning to become harsh and she kept moving.

They had moved the first aid kit down stairs since the shooting incident. It seemed to have been good forethought for once, as Clarke got the kit out from the cupboards under the basin. Raven was only still for a moment before seeming to just shrug at herself and went and hopped up on the bathroom counter. She winced a little as she did, but when Clarke glanced up Raven narrowed her eyes and she held her tongue.

Clarke stepped closer, gently grabbing Raven’s arm and pulling it forward. She eyed it as she turned on the sink with her other hand. Raven hadn’t been wrong. It wasn’t deep, certainly wasn’t like the sharp stinging that Clarke could still feel at her own back, but it was bleeding enough she didn’t want to risk an infection of any sort so she resigned herself to the process of cleaning it.

They didn’t talk as Clarke carefully wiped the dried blood away. At first she could feel Raven’s stare heavy on her, watching her movements, but then she must have grown bored and just started looking around the bathroom. Clarke mumbled an apology now and again when Raven would involuntarily flinch from cleaning it, and by the time that Clarke was just finishing on making sure it was good as it was going to get, Raven spoke up.

“You know, since the damage to our apartment wasn’t really _your_ fault, but his, do you reckon we could get your alpha lady to pay for it?”

Clarke glanced up to shoot her a glare, but Raven’s smirk was full of teeth and it was obvious it’d have no effect. “Let’s maybe give it a couple days before syphoning money out of them, Raven.”

Raven clicked her tongue. “Tall dark and broody was on your side, wasn’t she? She’s probably still in her grovelling stage, anyway.”

Clarke, perhaps, pressed a little hard on the wound with a swipe. Raven yelped, but this time when it was Raven glaring at her Clarke only smiled back. “My bad.” She apologised, though it was very much not an apology.

They fell back into silence. Clarke figured it was safe from infection now and picked up a sterile bandage from the kit.

“You know,” Clarke murmured, gently pressing the bandage against the cut that ran no longer than the length of the tip of her thumb to her wrist. “You’re going to have quite the scar from this.”

Raven frowned, eyeing her closely and clearly distrusting of Clarke’s seemingly harmless tone. “It’s not even that deep, Clarke.”

Clarke hummed. It only made Raven more suspicious.

“Griffin.”

Clarke’s eyes flicked up.

“I know that tone. Stop bullshitting.”

She finally let the devilish smile unfurl, gave an innocent shrug. “Well, I’m just saying. Anya couldn’t stop looking at your arm. Actually seemed worried. Which,” and she frowned then, shook her head, “I honestly didn’t know that woman could be anything _other_ than hostile or stoic but, well, you’re the exception, right?”

Raven shoved her with her other hand. It only made Clarke smile wider, Raven scoffing at her and looking away. “Oh fuck off, stop projecting your own issues onto me.”

“Reyes, are you _blushing_?”

She actually got off the counter this time. Clarke grabbed her arm though just before she could storm out. “Hold on, not done,” she said, and though Raven shot a glare scathing enough it was a wonder she didn’t turn to ash right there, begrudgingly, she retreated. “You cut your thumb.”

Raven glanced at her hand as Clarke held it, flipping her palm over so the slice was visible. It had bled, but it didn’t look serious.

“What’s it from?” Clarke murmured, turning on the tap with her other hand and bringing it under the cool water. Raven hissed and Clarke mumbled an apology under her breath.

“Binds. Had to cut them. I started hearing shit, started panicking…”

Clarke looked at her. Raven was frowning and staring at the wall.

She almost said something, but eventually she ended up swallowing the fledgling words and averting her gaze. She carefully her dried thumb, bandaged it and finally stepped away.

“Alright. All done. Though you should put some ice on that bruise on your jaw.” Her eyes narrowed then, and she was overcome with that same anger from before. But then she was suddenly hyperaware of the itch at her skin, and the feeling passed. Raven made a move to leave when Clarke couldn’t resist it and called out to her. “Oh, and Raven?”

Raven paused from the doorway, glancing back at her with a raised brow.

Clarke grinned. “Sorry Anya couldn’t be the one to patch you up.”

Raven for a moment really looked like she wanted to kill her. She gave her the finger over her shoulder as she scoffed and walked away. “I’m getting a fucking drink Griffin, and if I so much as hear another word from you I _will_ be slipping silver down your throat while you sleep.”

Clarke really did have to bite her tongue to stop from continuing. In all honesty, she really wouldn’t put it past Raven to actually do something like that in act of revenge. She wouldn’t ever do enough to properly injure her or even kill, but enough for a bit of pain and payback? It was practically her middle name.

She packed away the first aid kit and stashed back in its place under the sink, and she’d only just left the bathroom and resigned herself to the trudge upstairs when Raven called her name just as she’d started moving.

“Hey wait,” Raven said, closing the fridge and now holding a beer in one hand. Clarke felt a small flare of jealously at seeing it. At least one of them could forget the horror of what had gone down tonight. “Your back.”

Clarke frowned. “My back?”

“Yeah your back, moron. That big ol’ scar running across it? Shouldn’t you patch that too?” Clarke had only just opened her mouth to reply before Raven was continuing again with a roll of the eyes. “And yes, I know werewolf biology means it’ll be gone in a couple days. Whatever. Doesn’t change anything. If you’re forcing _me_ to patch up, I’m forcing you.”

Clarke sighed. It seemed her plan to just shower and collapse was now going to become shower, patch up _then_ sleep. Great. “I’m showering first, Raven.” She narrowed her eyes, because on that she was not budging, but there was no point in the hardening of her tone because Raven only nodded.

“I’m not debating that. You look…”

Raven’s tone lost some of its mocking, and all at once the reality of it all pressed down on them in a suffocating blanket.

She eventually just shook her head. “You know what I mean. Piss off then. I’ll be watching TV.”

Clarke didn’t think Raven was actually going to watch TV so much as just use it as something to focus on that wasn’t the present. “Alright. Don’t get too wasted. I don’t want to spend the night holding your hair back.”

Raven scoffed as she sat herself on the couch. “You insult me, wolfie.”

The shower was a slow process.

When she found herself standing there in the bathroom now finally alone, it was then that she felt it finally collapse. It was the moment she saw herself. Looked in the mirror and locked eyes with whoever now stood on the other side. She could understand Raven’s discomfort at least now that she could see herself. Her hair was a mess, though was loose and wild like it was always was after shifting.

There was still a faint red around her mouth. Peaking out from her collarbone, her neck, sprayed specs and bloody dots. Only a vague amount of bruising was kept, lingering around her neck and jaw, but it looked like it had had days to heal, not hours. Turning seemed to have sped up the majority of the healing process. She watched herself for a moment, at the hollowness that hung under her eyes, while in contrast there was a distinctly wild brightness to the blue.

Clarke frowned and stepped away. It had only been what, a few hours since she’d turned? If that? She shouldn’t really be so surprised there was still an echo of it, even if she was just so goddamn _tired_.

It tugged at the wound on her back in the worst of ways as she pulled the hoodie and shirt off. She grit her teeth and bit back the grunts of pain. It’d be fine. It was more a nuisance than anything. When she’d finally stripped herself she was unable to wrangle enough self-control to resist the urge, and she found herself stepping back into the mirror’s gaze. She paused, rotated her shoulder to look at the scar, then eyeing the rest of her body to find the cause of those lingering aches. The bruises from where she’d assumed she had taken the shots were spread across her skin, over her torso and arms as if she’d acted as a wall against the bullets.

She gave the water a few minutes to warm up before stepping in. She hadn’t anticipated that harsh sting that jolted through the muscles in her back, and she swore when the water hit the wound. A few seconds had to go by until she adjusted and the pain was pushed to the background. Her eyes fell closed and she let it wash over her. It was too hot, but she couldn’t really find the effort to care. The heat and exhaustion for a moment became too overwhelming and she swayed, but her hand shot out to the wall to keep her upright. Clarke cursed under her breath. When she glanced down she saw the blood-tinged water swirling down the drain.

She didn’t know how long she spent staring. The streaming water was catching on her eyelashes and forcing her to blink. She just kept watching it though. It ran in red rivets down her leg. Spread from her foot like an explosion from a drop of ink on paper. Slipping in watery crimson streaks into the metal drain.

Eventually she broke out of it. She couldn’t feel her hands. She started scrubbing the blood off her. At first it was slow and careful, but then it still felt like it was there even if she could physically see it wasn’t. The water was still too hot. She couldn’t feel her arms. She was scrubbing too hard, the skin was now raw with her effort. She kept going.

Something was trying to claw up her chest. It felt like it was behind a glass wall though. She kept staring at the drain. She could hear the filling of the pipes. The rattle. The flow. She made out her own heartbeat. Then Raven’s. It was slow, the TV was playing downstairs.

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t feel her skin. She wasn’t sure whether it was stinging or not. Her heart was racing. Was it racing? She swayed again. Her hand braced the tile wall. It should have been cool and wet. It was nothing. Static. Her eyes opened again. The water was still circling the drain. Streaming down her back. She kept staring until the rivets that ran down her leg weren’t red, until the spread around her foot was clear.

She couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t.

Clarke blinked, and realised the water had gone cold.

-

At first, she didn’t move.

They all seemed to be waiting on her. On her reaction, of what would follow, but Lexa stood there and she watched with stoic eyes as Clarke—bloodied, rage-and-fire-burning-from-her eyes-and soul- _Clarke_ —walked away, Raven trailing close behind her. For once quiet with remarks.

Slowly, her gaze fell down to rest on the bodies before her. She could taste her own fury too. It lingered on the back of her teeth but it was misdirected and torn, stretched tight and pulled in too many directions to keep intact its coherency. Because they had been _her_ pack, they had been her own: the ones she had to sworn to protect and defend.

She was furious for the deaths of her people at the hands of someone who was not Trikru, who was a _mutt_ and as such should be an enemy and threat.

But when she stood there, her nails digging painfully into her palm enough surely soon it would bleed. She looked over their bodies and thought of when Anya had told her of what Tristan had pulled with her the first time Clarke had come to the house. She had been furious then, and she was furious now.

This didn’t feel like an outsider killing one of her own. Not a mutt lashing out. Lexa believed her, she stood by in her statement that it was an act of self-defence. But it didn’t change the fact that her own definitions had started to blur without her noticing. That somehow, in some way, she had begun to think of Clarke as her people too.

And so at first, she didn’t move.

“Get the bodies off the lawns.” Lexa said, finally tearing her eyes off the corpses and glancing up to her pack. “Echo, Lincoln, move them. You know what to do.”

“Heda,” Ryder spoke, his voice cautious but confused, still holding the traces of anger he’d spat at Clarke from before. “You are letting her live?”

Lincoln had already started moving to grab the bodies as she’d ordered, but Echo had hesitated. Lexa narrowed her eyes. She was slow as she turned around. Just the action alone had Ryder taking a step back.

“Echo,” Lincoln muttered, now kneeling by Tristan’s body. There was a warning in his tone, not in threat, but a plead to back down. Echo took one look at Lexa before swallowing and bowing her head. Lexa only gave a passing glance as she swiftly moved past her and crouched down to help Lincoln.

“We should move inside.” Gustus said, his voice grave, and at Lexa’s nod they all started move. She managed to catch Gustus’s gaze just before he turned around, and she hoped he saw the gratitude in her eyes.

Lexa only let herself have a second to release the shuddered breath, and with only that second of weakness she felt something in her shift and shoved all distracting feeling away.

She fell into the role she had been spent her entire life training and bleeding for. It was automatic and with her voice cold and unaffected that she gave orders, running through the usual protocol of when somebody had been killed and it was too dangerous to let the bodies be naturally found. They all stood in the living room, none sitting down, but watching her.

It was obvious in the air. Echo’s hesitation from before wasn’t the end of it. They wanted blood. The tension was thick and overwhelming, they watched her too close, too much. She knew it would eventually snap. Something would break, someone would give. When she was finished with her orders, in looking to each one of them to make sure this situation was secure and that they’d know their roles to make sure no one but their own would know of this, Ryder was the one to snap.

He slammed his fist against the wall. A snarl broke out of him, savage enough Indra moved closer to Lexa on instinct. “How can you stand there and give orders to _protect_ that mutt when she has just slaughtered our own?”

“You will respect your alpha.” Gustus snapped, his hands almost immediately moving to his side where Lexa had no doubt he had a knife hidden somewhere. Rarely were any unarmed with the ever-present threat of Cage around them. Ryder caught the movement and pulled himself up, but at Lexa’s warning call of Gustus’s name he stilled.

Lexa raised a hand, and though Gustus ground his teeth and his stare still burned into Ryder, he glanced at her, stiffly nodding and stepping back.

“Tristan and Quint were the ones to attack her and _her_ own. Attempting what they did can be considered as an act of war. Be grateful she has only stopped for retribution at the guilty parties.”

It only seemed to enrage Ryder more, his thick beard not enough to mask his snarl. “The mutt lies.” He spat, and this time Lexa’s eyes narrowed. The silence dragged on, and she knew it was partly because Ryder was not the only one wanting revenge, wanting _blood_ in return for what was taken. But she knew as well that while there was clear fury in Indra’s eyes, and possibly even Gustus’s and Anya’s, they would not let harm come to her at least.

“If that ‘ _mutt_ ’ had done what was done to her to this pack, then I would have wiped out hers. She has not lied. She called, _before_ this. She warned me. When I went to her apartment there was evidence of a fight, where I found both traces of her blood and Tristan’s own. It was not faked.”

Ryder stepped closer, seeming to ignore Gustus’s hand twitching with the urge to reach out and prevent him from getting near her. “She _killed_ our brothers! She spat on them with their blood still warm! She submits to you and then murders _our_ people, she should be killed for her treachery alone—”

“If Tristan and Quint had succeeded in their actions I would have had them executed anyway.” Lexa snapped, and this time the cold, stoic mask slipped for a fraction too long. “They secured their deaths whether by her hand or not.”

Ryder scoffed. “There is—”

“To forcibly induce someone into _Jusgafen_ is a crime punishable by death. What they did is unforgiveable. They are fortunate to have failed, for they escaped with a _far_ more merciful death than they deserved.”

They all seemed to suck in a sharp breath at the same time.

She could feel her hands shaking. A years old familiar pain and grief curled around her lungs and squeezed until it felt like she was at the verge of choking. She deliberately kept her gaze on Ryder, because she knew that Anya’s gaze had snapped to her now and if she looked at her it would reveal too much.

It was something never talked about. Not what had gone down years ago. But now they treaded the dangerous line, of speaking the unspoken. And though it hurt, though it _hurt_ like she was the one left with gaping wounds carved into her flesh, it was the thing that truly brought the weight of what had just happened come crashing down.

Forcing someone into _Jusgafen_ was a crime. It _was_ unanimously hated with their kind, no matter the pack. It was cowardly and weak. Something only those with no honour could do. Full of stupidity and carelessness for its danger of exposure, and wrong and cruel for its murder of its own, _their_ own kind.

But for Lexa it was also deeply, deeply personal.

And everyone knew that.

“They disgrace Trikru for what they have done.” Lexa muttered, and this time, when she glanced around the deathly quiet room, she was met with a few nods. Gustus, Anya, and even Indra. Her shoulders relaxed by a fraction. “Do not forget that she submitted to me, and in return she has received constant provoking and attacks from Tristan that she _chose_ to put aside in respect to Trikru.”

“I saw him threaten her before.” Gustus said, his voice oddly thoughtful, and it took Lexa a moment to realise that he was beginning to speak in her defence. When everyone looked to him, he squinted his eyes before continuing on gruffly. “He warned her she would regret what she’d done. He made an obvious threat against her, but she did not retaliate.”

“She only moved against him once when he deliberately provoked her into it.” Anya added, soon giving a shrug. “One warning and she held true, at least. Hasn’t hurt him since. Baring this of course.”

Gustus glared at her for the following smirk, but Anya like always ignored him.

Indra looked like she very much wanted to hit something, yet even still she nodded and voiced her agreement as well. “Heda is right. What they attempted to do is irredeemable.” Her expression darkened somehow even more. “They did not try to kill with honour, but with pathetic tricks and deceit.”

Lexa did not let show the flood of relief she felt.

She knew why Clarke had done what she had done. Coming here and dumping the bodies at her feet, standing there in their blood, in defiance and rage. All for the protection of her people. Any who would try would meet the same end.

It was also extremely reckless, and relied a _hell_ of a lot chance. She had stood there and looked at Lexa and Lexa only. She had looked like she _would_ truly fight if need be, that she would sacrifice whatever if it meant her own were safe. Of course Lexa couldn’t help to admire it, even if it had put her in an incredibly dangerous position.

But Lexa watched as the tension eased, just a little, and even Ryder bowed his head and stepped away. He did not voice his apology, but when Lexa ordered them to go complete what needed to be done, they did so unquestioningly, reassured in her.

When she was alone, Ryder came forward and knelt at her feet.

He looked up at her, and the anger might have still been there, but now it was overpowered with grief and pain. Slowly, he averted his gaze until he was staring at the ground, and after a long, waited pause, where her lungs became just a little bit more open he suddenly got to his feet and went to do as she asked.

She was only left alone for a few precious minutes until Anya came back in. She glanced up with a glare, but it faltered, at seeing Anya actually look worried, and for once her expression was free of any smirk or scowl.

“You alright?”

Lexa sighed and looked away from her. “I thought I told you to find the kill site.”

“I wanted to know what you were going to do.”

Lexa frowned, but she brought her gaze back. Anya was leaning against the doorway now, arms crossed over her chest. “What do you mean?”

“You told everyone what to do. You didn’t say what _you_ were going to do. So,” she raised a brow then, nodding at her. “What are you going to do?”

Lexa resisted the urge to massage her fingers into her temple. “Anya…”

It was obvious this was something she was not going to budge on. She only kept watching her, her expression oddly serious, and Lexa realised if she wanted her to actually do what she was meant to do the quickest way would just be to give her what she wanted.

Even if it would certainly give her ammunition that would no doubt become a problem down the road.

Anya must have sensed what she was about to say, because suddenly she blinked and straightened up. “You going to go to her, aren’t you?”

Lexa said nothing.

Anya scoffed and shook her head. “Are you _really_ just going to stand there and—”

“She’s not a soldier, Anya.” Lexa cut in, and oddly Anya quietened. Lexa released a slow breath, and for just a moment let the mask waver. “She is strong, I know that. She’s… I don’t know. But this life is new to her. I can’t in good conscience let her stand through it alone.”

“I figured.” Anya muttered, with surprising seriousness. She must have seen the bewildered look Lexa was giving her because she rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the doorway. “Whatever. Look can you just—could you do me a favour?”

Lexa was suddenly a lot more cautious. “Depends what it is.” She murmured, watching her carefully.

Anya cleared her throat, and if Lexa weren’t seeing it with her own two eyes she wouldn’t believe that she actually appeared _nervous_ for some reason. “Raven was holding her arm. Just, I don’t know, make sure it’s not serious, or something. Clearly blondie seemed certain that if she dies she’ll go rabid on us.”

Lexa stared at her, but upon realising she wasn’t joking, blinked a couple times before nodding. “Yeah, okay. I… I will check on her.”

It seemed the conversation had finally grown too uncomfortable for her because Anya just offered a stiff, decisive nod before uncrossing her arms and walking off out of sight. Lexa felt something tug at her lips and didn’t try to stop the growing, wicked smile.

Maybe there had been something to gain from the conversation after all.

-

She was not nervous when she knocked on the door.

Of course, that was a complete and utter lie.

She would never admit it, and she forcibly told herself more than once that she _was_ fine and she _was_ calm and that she _did_ know and was sure of what she was doing. That her palms definitely weren’t sweaty and that her heart wasn’t attempting a jailbreak out of the bone cage of her ribs. No, she was none of those things. None at all.

She might be some of those things.

A few minutes passed until the door was pulled open, minutes where Lexa had to consciously stopped herself from shifting on her feet. She knew she needed to be here, at the very least to follow the incessant nagging of her gut that warned her of earlier memories: of when she was younger, less hardened and trained, of the first taste of blood on her teeth and the heavy, heavy feeling of what you were told to be. When it was all new, and not routine.

She knew that the relationship between her and Clarke after everything had transpired was… complex to say the least, and while she might be confused on just where on they stood, she had not yet lost her desire to help her. And really, even if it ever came to the point where they _would_ be at each other’s throats as scorned enemies and nothing less, Lexa thought that that desire would not be something so easily lost.

It was not Clarke who opened the door like Lexa expected, but Raven.

Raven took one look at her, scowled, then promptly shut the door.

Lexa’s arm shot out. She prevented it from closing, but _damn_ did she not expect the amount of power in it and so Lexa was unable to stop the grunt that escaped her as she wedged her arm between. She had to exhale a sharp breath through her nose before pushing the door back open.

Raven did not look impressed, but before she could say anything Lexa was already speaking up.

“I want to help.”

She didn’t get the door slammed on her this time. Raven paused, her eyes narrowing. “Like you did last time?”

In hindsight she should have expected the hostility from Raven. Lexa sighed, making sure that her shoulders were low and there was nothing too sharp or hard in her eyes. Raven might be human, but she wasn’t stupid, and she only looked over the very blatant passive body language of _I come in peace_ before she sighed too.

Raven’s hand moved from where it’d been holding the edge of the door. “You’re not here for revenge or some shit are you?” she asked, and while there was bite in her tone the question seemed genuine. Lexa actually found herself mildly impressed. No matter the fact that she’d quite literally be up against a _werewolf_ , Raven honestly sounded like if Lexa answered incorrectly, she’d live to regret it.

“No,” Lexa answered, and she did her best to keep her features neutral and not smile. “I stand by my word from before. She acted in self-defence of her and her pack.”

Raven stared at her for a few heavy moments. Her eyes remained narrowed, her expression for once lacking anything sarcastic and full of such cold seriousness Lexa matched it. Neither of them said anything as they eyed each other. Then, eventually, Raven suddenly raised her chin and stepped back.

“Alright. Seems like you’re not fucking with me.”

Lexa blinked, not really sure if she should be offended or not.

Before she could say anything though Raven’s lips was splitting in a wide grin—a grin that, quite unfortunately, she was coming to recognise—and she only gave a quick, sure nod before finally letting the door swing open all the way and striding off into the apartment.

Lexa paused, not knowing if that had been invitation to come in without bloodshed or if that possibility was still well up in the air, when suddenly Raven was coming back anyway in a hurried pace.

But her hands, that had been empty before, now in one she held a metal bowl and the other a bottle of vodka.

Raven without any warning at all threw the bottle at her, though she at least was mindful enough to keep the throw slow, and Lexa’s reflexes kicked in fast enough to snatch it before it could hit her face.

“Raven, what—”

She threw the bowl at her next, and Lexa cursed under her breath before switching the vodka to one hand and catching the bowl with the other. A relieved breath fell out of her at realising she’d caught them both, but she still glanced up to give Raven a scolding glare.

It must have been something she was used to, because she only grinned at her.

“Well, I wish you the _best_ of lucky my friend, because while I love her, Clarke is absolutely the dumbest person I’ve ever met, and would rather die than let others look after her. From what I hear you’re about as stubborn as her, so maybe you’ll actually get through. Anyway,” Raven reached for a red bomber jacket that hung from the coat rack. She slipped it on, seeming to ignore how Lexa was just still watching her looking very, very confused.

“Are you leaving?” Lexa finally managed to say, her brow knotting and the expression only deepening when Raven looked at her like she was an idiot.

“Obviously.” She replied, like Lexa was the one being confusing. “She’s _your_ responsibility now. Wouldn’t let me help, so now it’s on you. Oh, and do keep in mind that I know your home address and have access to explosives. Alright! You two have fun, remember to use protection.”

Before Lexa could even process the slew of threats and warnings and snark Raven was already shuffling her way past her, shooting her a wink and a smirk over her shoulder, and then easily disappearing into the elevator and out of sight.

Lexa stood still a moment, feeling very much like she had briefly been teleported into another dimension for a second, and now had been suddenly wrenched back to the current reality.

She glanced down at the bowl and vodka still in her hands.

Well. It was safe to say Raven was clearly free of any debilitating injury.

She took a cautious step into the apartment, carefully shutting the door with her foot. It was still ruptured from where she assumed Tristan had broken in. The thought had her clenching the neck of the bottle, and it was only with a careful inhale and exhale did she keep herself from snarling.

She put the bottle on the floor for a moment so she could reach into her pocket and pull out of her phone. She texted Anya straightforward, for once forgoing any accompanying sarcastic comments. _Nothing serious. Bandage on right arm and hand. Does not seem to hinder movement or cause obvious pain._

It surprised her to see the replying grey speech bubble instantly appear. It hovered for a few seconds before disappearing entirely. A coupe beats passed until Anya only replied back _if only he’d taken her tongue_ and Lexa almost smiled.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket. She took a scent of the air, tilting her head when she caught the sound of movement and upstairs. The room smelt of Clarke, of vanilla and warmth and woodsmoke, and she glanced at the stairs at more recent trail of her scent here.

She wasn’t really sure why she bent down and picked up what Raven had quite literally thrown at her. Maybe it was a little because of the discomfort she felt, at being directly on _Clarke’s_ territory. Clarke’s home. She hadn’t been invited either, not really, and she knew that with their kind having someone uninvited deliberately wander into your territory was a situation that very rarely ended well.

Clarke’s door was the first one when Lexa climbed up. She only assumed so because her scent was heaviest here, and Lexa, not for the first time, wondered if it’d be worse or better to breathe through her mouth. On the plus side, she wouldn’t be forced to be confronted with her scent so intensely, but on the down side, it would mean she would _taste_ it and that could surely only end worse.

She gently rapped against the door with her knuckle, careful not to knock the vodka as she did so. A sigh sounded from inside the room before Clarke muttered a begrudging _come in_. Lexa pulled in a steady breath as she pushed down on the handle and nudged the door open.

“I swear, Raven, I’m _fine_ would you just—” Clarke’s words died off instantly at realising it was Lexa standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened, and she seemed to blink a few times as if to truly make sure she actually _was_ there. “Lexa? What are you doing here?”

Lexa had always prided herself on her way with words. She knew when to talk; she knew when it was pointless to. It was no simple feat balancing the egos of twelve alphas, to convince that putting aside generations and generations of blood and war and grudges, that claiming _peace_ over blood was the right course of action. And even when _she_ knew first hand of that very grudge. She knew it as she grit her teeth so tight her jaw ached for days after as she invited, and accepted, Azgeda into her coalition.

And yet, when Lexa stood there and came to the sudden overwhelming conclusion that Clarke must have just gotten out of the shower—her hair was still wet, though messy and tangled like she’d attempted to dry it but seemed to just give up halfway—she found that there were no words that could be said. Clarke didn’t look like anything she’d seen before.

Her shirt was soft, loose, wet patches on her shoulders and dripping onto the fabric, the carpet floor, lighter damp streaks on each hip side of her sweatpants like she’d been too tired to do anything more than dry her hand by wiping them against the grey cotton material.

She looked soft, and quiet in a way that had nothing to do with sound.

Clarke frowned. “Are you holding a bowl?” she asked, and as her eyes flicked over her frown deepened even further. “And is that _vodka_?”

Lexa blinked, taking a moment too long to actually regain her grasp on the English language. “Raven let me in,” she started, a far too late response to an earlier question. She cleared her throat and hoped her cheeks didn’t burn. “She… well, she threw these at me, said something about you being stubborn and refusing help and then… left.”

Clarke didn’t seem to find Raven’s actions strange—Lexa came to the assumption Raven must just be like that by nature—and to her surprise Clarke only took the words in, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding to exasperation and a _very_ bitter mutter of “traitor,” under her breath.

She didn’t know how it wasn’t her immediate first thought. Something caught her nose, sharp and familiar, but Clarke had just showered and she seemed to have washed all of it off her.

“You’re bleeding,” Lexa muttered, her brow knotting.

Clarke raised a brow. “It’s rude to out a girl’s period, you know.”

Lexa glared at her. “Clarke.”

That earned her a sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Clarke ran a hand through the mop of wet curls. The movement made her wince a little, which only mounted Lexa’s worry, and all of the sudden Raven’s odd warning and the items thrown at her made a lot more sense.

“You’re injured,” Lexa whispered, and while Clarke did glance up at her, she offered no sarcastic comment this time.

Lexa glanced down at the vodka and the bowl.

It was to clean a wound. Fill the bowl with water. Disinfect with alcohol. She would need bandages though. And a cloth. And just where was Clarke injured? She looked up and her eyes were sharp as they scanned her over. She could see no patches of red, nothing bleeding. But she had winced when she’d moved her arm. There was no evidence on her arms though. It must be at her shoulder, or maybe her back—

“What are you doing here, Lexa?”

Clarke’s voice pulled her out of her assessing. Clarke still stood near the window at the back of her room, leaning her shoulder into the wall, arms crossed over chest. Lexa remained at the doorway. Clarke hadn’t gestured for her to come further, but she also hadn’t snarled at her or demanded her to get off her territory. That had to mean something, didn't it?

Lexa considered her words carefully. Clarke was watching her like how she’d watched her when she stood on her lawn covered in blood with two dead pack mates at her feet. Cold, cautious, and drawing herself up for whatever possible violence to come.

Clarke raised her chin. “Were you lying? You here to avenge Tristan and Quint?”

Lexa did not like the distrust that was obvious in Clarke’s voice, but accepted it was only there by her cause. “No, Clarke. I believe you did what you had to do to protect your own.”

Clarke blinked at her, like she’d really been expecting a fight, and hesitantly Lexa saw her shoulders relax by a fraction.

“You do?” she questioned, but her voice was no longer cold. It certainly wasn’t warm, but something in the middle, too uncertain and unsure to pick itself a side so it hovered in between.

Lexa swallowed and nodded, and a little more of the tension leaked out of her. “Yes. I came to… I wanted to make sure you were okay. To offer my help if needed.”

Clarke was watching her so closely she was irrationally convinced that she was picking apart the contents of her soul. “And if I want you to leave?” she muttered, some of that burning slipping back into her voice.

Lexa bowed her head. “If you tell me to leave, I will leave.”

Clarke stared at her.

Lexa didn’t say anything and held her gaze.

She would leave the choice to her. It did not matter that just the thought alone, that Clarke was injured and refusing help, was already snagging her wrists like chains to stay—never mind that she could _see_ Clarke, standing easy on two feet, nothing like she was bleeding out, even if that was how Lexa felt—she had already stolen a choice from her, and Lexa would do whatever she could to make sure she never would again.

She was almost resigning herself to just placing what Raven had given her to the floor and leaving. She _did_ have duties to do anyway, even if by a reason she was reluctant to admit Clarke had somehow climbed her way to being top priority.

But Clarke sighed and closed her eyes. She shook her head at something Lexa did not hear, and with a murmur of a word Lexa didn’t make out her shoulders slacked completely and the heavy tension in the air between unravelled as easy as breathing.

“I’m assuming you’re not going to want to leave until you’ve checked over my wound, or whatever?”

The corner of her lips twitched, but she managed to resist the urge to smile. “Yes.”

Clarke stared at her another moment before giving in.

She rolled her eyes, but pushed herself off the wall and walked forwards. Lexa took that as cue enough, and so with only a little caution she crossed the invisible line into Clarke’s room. Clarke went to immediately sit on her bed and Lexa only hesitated a moment before following suit. As she sat down, she glanced around the room, taking note of how Clarke clearly wasn’t the neatest souls, yet there was something comforting and innately solacing about it. How you knew someone _lived_ here, not just exist.

It was a little strange, maybe. Clarke seemed the type to struggle to stay still. But here, where some of her drawers were still half open and there was enough clutter on top it seemed to have become a shelf in all but name, where in one corner the pale wall was splattered with a meticulously painted star scene, where woods stretched below and an impatient night sky crawled on its hand and knees above.

Here, it was home.

Lexa thought she felt at home here too.

“Here,” Clarke said, handing her a cloth and a first aid kit. She seemed to have also taken the bowl without Lexa noticing either, which really should have said something for just how lost in her thoughts she’d been. Lexa brought herself back, taking the offerings with a murmured thanks and setting them to the side. Clarke remained standing, looking to be caught in between something, and Lexa’s brow creased as she watched her. It seemed she didn’t even need to say anything as Clarke heard her question anyway. “It’s—where he stabbed me, it’s my back.”

Lexa clearly missed the point of what Clarke was trying to get across, because the only thing she heard was _stabbed_. “Silver?” she immediately questioned, her voice sharp and panicked now.

Clarke looked startled, having to take a confused moment before replying. “No, no, it’s fine. It wasn’t silver, and it’s not even that deep anyway.” She scowled then. “Raven is overreacting.”

Lexa, for the first time in her life, actually felt an ounce of sympathy for Anya. “Sit down.”

Clarke glared at her, but with a long-suffering sigh she complied. She left space between as she sat on the edge of the bed, and suddenly she gave her that look again, the one hesitant and caught between.

“It’s on my back,” she said again, more pointedly, and finally Lexa understood what she was getting at.

And even if it sent a jolt of _something_ through her chest, she only gave Clarke an exasperated look. It seemed to work, because the air became a little lighter and Clarke even cracked an embarrassed little smile and looked away. It made her feel young, and she couldn’t help but smile a little too.

“You forget we’re werewolves.” Lexa said, her smile only widening, especially when Clarke huffed and gave her a reprimanding slap at her arm.

“I can kick you out.”

“I’m sure you can.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes.

“Come on, turn around.” Lexa murmured, keeping her voice low. She offered an almost smile. “I do know what I’m doing, Clarke.”

Clarke still hesitated, biting her lip. “You _have_ done this before right?”

Lexa knew stalling when she saw it. She shot her a dry look. “No, I have never in my life treated someone else’s injuries before.”

“What’s that you always say about mockery?”

“ _Turn_ around Clarke.”

She did, but not after grinning at her like was the one who’d won.

Not that Lexa had any idea what exactly she’d won.

The levity did not last long. Something painful tightened in her chest when she saw Clarke’s back, even with the layer of clothing between. No wonder she had caught the scent before. There was already a red line across her shirt now, the blood having leaked through. Lexa didn’t let escape the sound that wanted to rip out of her throat.

Clarke only paused a moment before she reached down and grabbed the edges of her shirt. She pulled it over, but halfway Lexa heard her hiss and her hands came out to help her. She wasn’t really sure if it did, but Clarke’s skin was still warm and soft from her shower and it meant she was allowed the selfish indulgence of briefly feeling her hands along her arms.

Lexa involuntarily sucked in a sharp breath when the shirt was off. It wasn’t as bad as she’d been imagining, but seeing the bleeding scar only made her throat close up with something that clawed in a twisting muddle of too many contradictions. She also very much ignored the fact that Clarke was shirtless, because that was an entirely different train wreck, and frankly she was intending to deal with one internal disaster at a time.

Clarke didn’t speak at first. Lexa didn’t push. Showering had washed the worst of it, but it was already leaking down her back again and Lexa kept the touch of the wet cloth gentle as she pressed against the warm skin. It was calming almost, the repetitive motion of wringing the cloth, the water a little more red each time. Clarke didn’t make any obvious indication she was in pain, but Lexa heard the sharp breathy intakes when she got too close to the open scar.

Lexa doubted it would leave a mark. Most likely in only a handful of days it would already be gone. It was already partially healed, and she came to the assumption that Clarke must have shifted. It cemented her theory at least. While there was a chance that Clarke had fought off Tristan and Quint while human, it was not a high one. And the sheer damage to the bodies, ripped, clawed and mauled at…

That was not something a human could do.

“They were going to kill her.”

Lexa paused. She had not expected Clarke’s voice, but only after a moment she nodded, no matter that Clarke couldn’t see, and continued at her back. “I know,” Lexa murmured, and she watched as Clarke’s shoulders rose and dropped and her head fell forward.

“I had to.” Her voice shook this time. Lexa swallowed thickly, momentarily glad they were not facing each other. She thought that Clarke was relieved of this too. There was always a better ease in revealing when you didn’t have to look them in the eye. “I _had_ to. I didn’t… I could have put up with him, you know that right? Tristan was a dick and while I might wanted it in the back of my mind I would never just…”

Lexa wrung the cloth. It was tinged red now. “You are not to blame for this.” She assured softly. She ground her teeth then, ignored the regret and shame that wanted to burn a hole through her chest. “I am his alpha.” A shuddered breath slipped out of her. “I should have known what was coming.”

“Don’t do that.”

Lexa paused again. She frowned, staring at the back of Clarke’s head. “Do what?” she asked, for a moment abandoning her task.

Clarke shrugged, but the movement made her wince. “Even _I_ thought Tristan was just throwing threats but never following. Don’t blame yourself for this.”

Something tugged at the corner of her lips. “If I am not allowed to be blamed, then you understand that you are not either, don’t you?”

Clarke looked over her shoulder to glare at her.

Lexa only smiled in her victory.

They fell back into silence. She wrung the cloth the final time, twisting the lid off the bottle beside her. She murmured a warning after pouring some into cloth, but still Clarke hissed when it made first contact against the torn flesh.

“ _Moba_ ,” Lexa mumbled without thinking, and she only realised her mistake when Clarke twisted her neck slightly to look back at her.

“ _Moba_?” she repeated, confused, and Lexa very deliberately ignored how her cheeks were suddenly warm. Hopefully Clarke didn’t see.

“Sorry, it… it means I’m sorry. In trigedasleng.”

There was a pause, as she seemed to mull it over, before Clarke nodded and repeated the word. “ _Moba_ ,” she said, clearly testing out the word, and she echoed it a few times with Lexa’s correcting until the pronunciation was correct. “You’re still going to teach me it, right?”

Lexa blinked at the question. She hadn’t expected that Clarke still held interest to learn it. “Do you want me to?”

Clarke shrugged again, and like before she winced.

“Stop that,” Lexa admonished, glaring at her even if she couldn’t see. Clarke must have sensed it anyway because she shot her a devious little grin that had Lexa thinking she was probably going to do it again solely to annoy her.

The lightness came and went. They said nothing more as Lexa finished up, opening the first aid kit and carefully layering a bandage over the sterilised wound. Clarke bit back a grunt, Lexa murmured an apology again but it only made Clarke laugh a little, oddly, and while it certainly wasn’t a sound that anyone with a light heart could make, it was something.

And something was always better than nothing, wasn’t it?

Clarke reached for her shirt lying on the bed and pulled it back on. She made a small noise of pain again, but when Lexa frowned and tried to offer to help she only glanced back and gave a small smile.

She stood up suddenly, Lexa’s eyes following her. Lexa didn’t like admitting the disappointment in her chest when the moment she’d done as offered and helped her injuries Clarke was instantly walking away. But still it remained. Though she really couldn’t be blamed much. There had been too many grazing touches and soft looks and sounds to ever pretend like Lexa had been here in official capacity only, but then, maybe she’d just misread it. Maybe.

Clarke, in a very confusing display walked over to the wall by the door. She turned around and fell into it, sighing long and tired as her back slid down until she was sitting on the floor, pulling a knee up and letting the other stretch. Lexa wasn’t, exactly, sure what that meant, if she was expected to leave or not. She decided to err on the side of caution considering all that had happened between them and got up to leave.

She had only just grabbed the door handle when Clarke called out to her, and Lexa glanced at to her to find looking up at her with a frown.

“Where are you going?” she asked, actually looking confused as if _she_ wasn’t the one who was so consistently confounding Lexa thought she’d be better off working out the true meaning of life itself then untangle whatever mess they were.

Lexa opened and closed her mouth, looking between Clarke and the door. “You’re… sitting on the floor.”

“No wonder you’re a detective.”

Lexa reminded herself it was a good thing that Clarke was actually making jokes. It was good. It was.

She glared at her.

Clarke sighed, abandoning the façade. “Come on, sit down. Stay.”

For a moment her voice shook, just a little, tripped over itself and Lexa would have dared anyone to attempt to say no in face of something like that. She made a show, of course, rolling her eyes and huffing, because she was still very mindful of just exactly why she was here and she figured she’d for once have to be the one to carry the levity and make sure nothing spiralled. Irony had always had a dreadful timing, she supposed.

Lexa sat next to her. She left a slice of distance between them, but she was also painfully aware she’d barely have to lean and they’d press together. They didn’t speak. Clarke only glanced at her once before looking forward. Lexa tried to follow her gaze but it didn’t seem to be attached to anything.

She wasn’t really sure how long it had been before either of them spoke.

“Have you ever killed before?” Clarke murmured, so quiet Lexa figured she only caught it on only supernatural hearing alone.

Lexa glanced at her, but Clarke wasn’t looking at her. She faced forward again. “Yes,” she said, and she matched the low tone of her voice. She paused a moment, figuring she should be saying more when Clarke just made some muted hum. Lexa cleared her throat. “We have peace now, with the packs, but before it was… there were many wars.”

They were both quiet for several minutes.

“Do you know how many you’ve killed?”

Lexa blinked. The answer came quick in her head, but it took her too long to actually voice it. “No,” she answered softly. She swallowed. “There was… there had been a war between Triku for Azgeda for generations. It only ended just a few years ago. It… there was no victor. The only real cause for its ending was neither of us could afford losing so many of our people anymore.”

“Do you feel for those you’ve killed?” Clarke asked, and this time she tilted her neck so she was looking at her.

Lexa’s eyes fell to her hands. “I did what had to be done to survive. I did not want war. Nia wanted it, but just because I didn’t want a war didn’t mean I wouldn’t let her come for my people.” Lexa finally turned her head to meet her gaze, and when she saw Clarke frowning she answered the unspoken question. “Nia is the alpha for Azgeda. She wants blood and power and doesn’t care for anything else.”

Clarke seemed to hear the venom that was snaking into her tone from having to speak of Nia. She nodded, and when she didn’t question further, Lexa felt the sudden tightness that had snuck into her shoulders bleed out.

Lexa’s eyes flicked between Clarke’s own. The only light came from a small bedside lamp and the window at the front of the room, where cloudless skies revealed countless stars and the moon, just a week off being full, shone lazy and unconcerned.

In the dark, Lexa felt just a little bit brave.

She forced in a slow breath before she reached out with her hand and grabbed Clarke’s own from where it lied on the floor. She determinedly kept her gaze low and watched with nerves straining her chest as she nudged with a pinkie, timid at first, but then Clarke’s hand was drifting towards her too and she wasn’t sure whether that was worse or not.

Eventually, their hands overlapped until Lexa entwined their fingers together. They both seemed to release the same breath. Clarke’s hand was as warm and soft as it was when she’d grabbed hers briefly back in the club weeks ago. But that had had a purpose, a practical function that made sense.

This was different.

“I still believe you hold the kindest heart I’ve ever known,” Lexa muttered, still watching their joined hands. She could feel Clarke’s eyes on her but she didn’t glance up. It would be all too much if she did that. “That has not changed in face of what you have done. You were protecting your people. You did what you needed to.”

“Lexa,” Clarke whispered, and she really had no idea how the single word seemed to hold an entire conversation in it.

Lexa exhaled shakily and held her hand tighter. “You might regret what you have done. You might not. But no matter on how you do, it _has_ been done and that cannot be changed. I will not lie to you. You already understand what it means to take a life. It is not something easy to forget, and I know it can easily consume your soul.” She glanced up then, and let herself waver, just the slightest. “Promise me you will not let that happen.”

It was an unbelievably selfish ask, but Lexa’s voice cracked, and Clarke’s eyes kept tracking over her like she was trying to take in too much at once.

Clarke swallowed, but Lexa was surprised when she offered her a small nod. “Alright,” she whispered, even if the apartment was empty and really there was no need to keep her voice so quiet.

But maybe there was, like the instinctive hush in a cathedral. Maybe a tone any louder was blasphemy in an unspoken way.

Lexa’s smile was small and barely there, but Clarke stared at it like it was significant.

The air was starting to become too thick and heavy. Lexa glanced away, though she didn’t let go of Clarke’s hand, and Clarke didn’t either. They were silent for a long while. Lexa had only just started to get her thoughts back in order when she heard Clarke let out a long, tired sigh before her head fell into Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa stiffened, but then Clarke pinched her arm as if to wordlessly tell her off and, though it was slow, she relaxed again.

She thought that maybe Clarke was going to fall asleep and was intending to use her as a pillow—which, honestly, didn’t actually sound too bad as an outcome for her—but then Clarke shifted until her nose was pressed into the crook of her neck and she breathed deep. Her body melted a little further into her, and Lexa had to blink a few times when she understood why.

Her scent. She was focusing on her scent.

There were worse ways to spend a night.

“Tell me something.” Clarke mumbled into her neck, and Lexa thought if Clarke were anyone else she’d not get away with such blatant demands.

“Tell you what?”

“I don’t know. Something. I just need…” Lexa felt Clarke’s shaky exhale hit her skin. “To focus on something else. Please.”

A distraction. She could do that. Lexa frowned though, wondering just what the hell she was meant to talk about. Her mind kept coming up on blank on the face of too much choice. It was almost comical, if it weren’t also incredibly irritating.

Clarke seemed to realise because she squeezed her hand to gather her attention. It worked, of course, Lexa leaned closer into Clarke until her cheek was pressed against her hair and she was glancing down at their joined hands. “Tell me something about you.” Clarke said, and Lexa’s brow creased. “I feel like I know nothing.”

She thought it over. It was true, they barely spoke of their lives outside of what was essential. But there was something new here, this… rebuilding of something else. She rarely freely gave personal stories, but for this, maybe she could break a self-imposed rule.

“When I was fifteen I nearly drowned.”

Clarke laughed, absolutely bewildered at the unexpected statement. She even pulled back and glanced up at her, as if to check if she was kidding, but Lexa only held her gaze and raised her brow.

“I’m sorry, you _what_?” Clarke said, laughing a little again, and Lexa thought if there was a sound that could calm someone’s very soul, it was that.

“I grew up in this town called Tondc,” Lexa explained, and Clarke’s smile widened into something softer before she leaned back down again, settling once more into her neck. Lexa pretended it didn’t feel like coming home. “There are some humans, but it’s mostly our kind. There’s a river that runs near, and I tell you in this confidence, but I find it… enjoyable to run in it as a wolf.”

She could feel Clarke’s smile broaden into her neck. “So one day you nearly drowned in it?”

Lexa huffed a laugh. “No, I grew up on it. I know it like the back of my hand. No, it happened only a few months after I had my first turning. The Sankru pack hold a lot of territory in the deserts and some of the coast. Relations between us and Sankru weren’t… as dire as Azgeda, but there was little trust. A Trikru wolf went missing and rumours were it was Sankru’s doing. But a Sankru had wolf gone missing as well, and rumours spread it was _Trikru_ ’s doing.”

“Indra was alpha at the time.” Lexa continued, and surprisingly, she found it not so awkward to talk of her past. “She went to meet with the Sankru alpha, Gustus was her beta, and wherever he went he took Anya and I. We ended up staying somewhere that was only a few miles from the beach. I had never seen the ocean before.”

“I think I know where this is going,” Clarke mumbled, and Lexa gave her a reprimanding swat against her arm with her free hand.

“I snuck out at night. We only stayed for a few days, there wouldn’t be time otherwise. The beach was empty. I remember the taste of salt in the air more than anything else.”

Clarke relaxed a bit more into her, digging her nose in a little further. Lexa took that to hopefully mean she was doing something right.

“I shifted and ran in. No humans, no wolves, no one. The water was freezing, but I didn’t really care. I ran through the sea across wet sand and let the water kick up until I was drenched.”

She was unable to stop her nostalgic smile then. Clarke must have sensed it somehow because she felt her squeeze her hand.

“I hadn’t accounted for the tide though. I wasn’t paying enough attention and I got caught under a wave, and it only got worse when I got dragged into a rip.” Lexa sighed then, as if her younger self could hear. Idiot. “I knew at least the basics of swimming as a human, but I wasn’t human then. I started panicking. I thought I was going to die out in the sea alone all because I’d snuck out without telling anyone.”

“What happened?” Clarke asked, her voice becoming more and more a tired mumble.

“Anya.” She answered, irritated but fond. Clarke hummed like it wasn’t all that surprising. “I didn’t know she’d followed me. Of course, she only had so she could get blackmail on me. But it meant that when she saw she got in and pulled me out.” Lexa narrowed her eyes. “She loved every second. The moment we got out, she collapsed onto the sand soaking wet and couldn’t stop laughing. I think I only gave her better blackmail material really.”

Clarke laughed, shaking her head and Lexa felt warmth spread out from under her ribs.

She continued telling stories. Mostly the embarrassing ones, because usually they made Clarke laugh and the image of Clarke bloody and war-like was still too fresh in her mind. It was properly mortifying at points, but it was worth it though, because the sensation of Clarke smiling against her neck was something that—were she asked—she’d give up everything called hers for, if it meant she could live in it for eternity.

She was terrified, of course. It was an inherently terrifying thing. But then Clarke’s fingers squeezed through hers a little tighter, and Lexa thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad, to be so completely lost within someone.

“You’re an idiot,” Clarke murmured, but she was still smiling into her skin.

Lexa smiled a little too. “Don’t tell anyone.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that’s right, nearly 200k words and they’ve finally held hands. have you started plotting my murder yet?  
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed that. again, i apologise for taking so long. im just slow and tryna wrangle the motivation to write is annoyingly difficult. on the bright side, since ive finally set everything up now all the shit can start going down. shits only gonna get more hectic from here and im very excited. which... yeah knowing my track record you should probably be just a little (a little) nervous 
> 
> thank you for taking the time out of your day to read, it really means a lot.  
> wishing you all a good one. 
> 
> translations:  
> ai tombom - my heart  
> sha - yes  
> no sich - no trouble  
> os. osir gaf chich - good. we need to talk  
> teik em gon nila - put her on her knees  
> ron we, osir gaf ron - run away, we need to run  
> shof op - shut up  
> moba - i'm sorry


	8. And Spit Into The Lying Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s not gay if it’s under the moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am BACK and more bastardous than ever. and yes, i would apologise for taking so long but come on. you’ve been here long enough. you know the drill. anyway, i actually do wanna say a sincere thank you to all of yous still hanging with me through this shit fest. seriously means more to me than i can say. thank you.  
> also… again, a warning for violence in this one.  
> happy belated new years lads. i haven’t changed a bloody bit.  
> (for that Full Immersion listen to: I Love You by Ezra Bell)

It was the first day of the full moon she got the call.

Lexa was at the precinct, sitting on a desk and staring at photos from Cage’s multiple murders—glaring at anyone foolish to come near her—when her phone vibrated from where it sat on her desk.

Though it wasn’t actually _her_ desk. It belonged to Marcus Kane, the chief deputy, but since Kane seemed to have proven more tolerable than Pike he was the only one who had even earned a sliver of acknowledgment from her. Anya was busy and so Lexa was left going over case files with him. The full moon made her hands shake just the slightest, and while a certain amount of concentration was being leached in favour of making effort to appear as though her body _wasn’t_ chaffing to assume a different form, she had enough experience to be able to do her job.

Then again the next person to slam open the doors to precinct was going to get their throat ripped out. Her hearing was damn sensitive enough with the constant noise pressure of the office alone.

“Are we sure that he hasn’t already left town?” Kane asked, frowning from where he sat in his desk chair that only had two out of four working wheels. He glanced up at her. “He rarely stays one in place for long when he’s on the move, according to your files.”

“He’s still here. I’m sure.” Lexa murmured without looking at him. Her phone kept buzzing but she ignored it in favour of eyeing one of the rare photos they had of Cage. Of course, it was blurry and his face was more fuzzy grain than detail. Cage might be scum of the earth but damn if he wasn’t annoyingly good at being elusive. It was like trying to catch a fish with your hands.

“How can you be so sure?” Kane questioned, and this time Lexa did look up. It was probably a little petty how she took satisfaction in how he immediately straightened his back and nervously swallowed.

Lexa narrowed her eyes, but before she could say anything she glanced briefly at her phone only for her gaze to snap instantly back. She blinked, wondered if she was hallucinating, but realised quite abruptly she wasn’t. Raven was calling her. And she only knew that because that was the number Anya always glared at when it appeared on her phone—even if she’d reach to answer it every time.

“Hold on.” She told Kane, and she didn’t wait for his nod before she was picking up her phone and bringing it to her ear. “Raven? Why are you calling me?”

It was only two words, but the second she heard them she burst to her feet.

“What do you mean _Clarke’s dying_?”

-

Clarke was dying.

Well, no, she wasn’t, but she might as well have been. There were few things she hated most than when her period and full moon days overlapped. It had arrived a handful days of before, and she’d been glaring at her calendar to the countdown till the next full moon irrationally hoping that, somehow, this one would pass quick and earlier than usual and definitely _not_ coincide with the moon.

Unfortunately, miracles were a rare occurrence in her life.

She’d almost made it too.

A full moon on its own was overwhelming enough. Everything was louder, smells were sharper and there was that anxious thrum of energy that itched just under her skin, an ominous weight in her stomach and a buzz in her bones like they knew that by nightfall they’d be snapped a hundred times over.

Add on to that nausea and a bloated stomach and incessant, though thank everything, minor, cramps, and yeah, dying would have been a far more pleasant outcome. Maybe that was being dramatic but she could goddamn be dramatic when the entire universe was conspiring against her.

Clarke closed her eyes and released a slow breath from where she lied on her bed. The hot water bottle pressed to her lower stomach had gone cold nearly twenty minutes ago but the idea of getting up and moving, after spending an annoying amount of time to find a position comfortable enough, was not particularly appealing. Her back was propped up some against the bed’s headboard, and she wondered, not for the first time, if her consistent string of abysmal luck was entirely of her own fault or was some grand plan of a malevolent being she’d violently pissed off in a past life.

Either way, she was pissed and glaring at the ceiling and plotting an assassination against the divines.

A banging knock sounded downstairs. Clarke winced at the resulting sting in her ear. Her glare only intensified, and she scrapped her plans of murder of a god to whoever was pounding against the fucking front door at eleven in the morning on a damn Saturday. She was almost about to yell at Raven to goddamn answer it, except when Raven _finally_ got off her ass to do so she caught the voice of the knocking offender and Clarke stiffened. She frowned, because she _knew_ that voice like the back of her hand, and not a second later her bedroom door slammed open and Lexa burst through.

Clarke cursed in surprise at the unexpected surge of movement, staring at her with wide eyes, but Lexa was rushing towards her only to suddenly pull to an abrupt halt. She frowned as her eyes scanned her over with an odd frenzy.

“Are you dying?” Lexa asked, with such a seriousness that Clarke’s brow rose.

“Depends on your definition.”

Lexa looked even more confused. Her mouth opened and closed a few times and she threw a glance over her shoulder. “Raven called and said you were dying…?”

There was a delighted cackle downstairs.

Clarke sighed and once again revised her plans of murder to include Raven.

The realisation must have hit Lexa too, because the panic left her expression only to be replaced with an exasperation and irritation that Clarke felt an echo of. “And… she was lying.” She sighed too, and it seemed she was about to offer her goodbye before leaving when she paused, eyeing her a little closer. “Wait, you’re not actually dying are you?”

Clarke chucked bitterly and shook her head. “One could only dream.” She gestured at the cold water bottle and suspicious chocolate wrapper remains. “It’s that time, because apparently we get _two_ meanings for the phrase. And lucky me this time it overlaps.” She scowled then. “Whoever invented werewolves can choke.”

Lexa looked like she was trying very hard not to smile. “You invented werewolves, Clarke.”

“Did I ask you to bring facts into this?”

Lexa lost the battle then, and even the mutiny her body was attempting to throw wasn’t enough to stop the warmth that bled in her chest at the sight of the amused smile. A wave of discomfort hit though, drawing a grimace and an aching tightening in her lower stomach. Lexa’s expression shifted immediately into concern.

“I’ve had it overlap a couple times.” Her voice was softer now. “Is there something I can do to help?”

Clarke softened a little too. “I’ll be fine, Lexa. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do anyway.”

Lexa’s concern didn’t waver. Her eyes drifted to the water bottle. “Does heat help for you?”

“Some, yeah. It’s a pain to constantly to refill though.”

Lexa bit her lip, giving her an oddly cautious look. “I might have an idea,” she said, and Clarke narrowed her eyes slightly. “I could shift, if you’d like.”

Clarke blinked. “It’s full moon,” she muttered, like it was a complete argument, but Lexa seemed to understand.

“I’ve had years, Clarke. I can control myself.”

“Lincoln shifted on the full moon and attacked Octavia.”

Lexa sighed and briefly glanced heavenward. “Lincoln shifted because he was close to dying and his _wolf_ shifted him to heal. He had to regain back control of his wolf because so. The full moon was a factor, not the cause.”

It made sense, but Clarke was still apprehensive. She couldn’t deny that she wasn’t just a little curious how Lexa thought shifting could help but… “Raven is downstairs, and I don’t want—”

“I swear to you, Clarke, I have complete control. I will not push this on you, I’m only suggesting. It’s up to you.”

It was a long, tense moment, but slowly the fight drained out of her and she deflated into the headboard. Anything even vaguely related to turning always had her stiffening, but it was Lexa, and despite the previously tenuous ground there was something almost dangerously stable filling the cracks. She nodded, and the tension leaked out of Lexa, she gave her this tiny little smile that to Clarke was one of the most precious things in the world.

Except then Lexa was pulling her shirt over her head like it was nothing and Clarke cursed— _again_ —and Lexa only realised what was wrong with her shirt in her hands, looking confused at her until understanding dawned. “Oh, right, sorry. You’re not used to… right. Could I use your bathroom then?”

By some miracle Clarke managed to give a shaky croak of permission. Lexa dipped her head and headed for the bathroom, sliding open the door and shutting it so a crack of space still remained.

Clarke released an embarrassingly relieved breath and let her head fall back into the wall with a dull thud.

“Fucking moron,” she whispered under her breath, keeping her voice deliberately quiet enough so it couldn’t be heard. She blamed the full moon. And her period. Honestly, just about everything seemed fair.

It wasn’t too long after she heard the familiar crunch of bone. Even if she rationally knew that she had nothing to fear, because Lexa _had_ proved on multiple occasions she possessed an impressive amount of control over the wolf, the sound still swept her with unease. She tensed, something a little sharper in her gaze as she eyed the bathroom door, and she waited with an uncomfortable knot in her stomach as she listened to the snapping and the grunts that became progressively deeper and guttural.

There was silence for a moment. Then, a shiny black nose peeked out from the crack in the door, sliding through until out came a snout too and Lexa could push open the door fully with her paws. She huffed and gave a quick shake of her fur once she was free, eyeing Clarke a beat before moving to carefully approach her.

Clarke realised quite quickly that there was a massive difference in perception when she only had the forest and towering trees as a scale. She had whispered about her being small but here in her room it was quite obvious that, despite not quite like her own wolf, she was still _big_ , and it seemed that their gazes both fell onto the wooden bed frame at the same time.

She stood taller than it, and Lexa stared at the bed cautiously, seeming gauge through sight alone if it’d be able to support her. Why Lexa didn’t think of this _before_ she shifted was beyond Clarke.

“You break it and you’re paying for it,” Clarke muttered in warning, and it was honestly impressive just how much exasperation Lexa managed to express through her eyes only. She moved closer though, lingering a few seconds before she finally crossed the bridge and pushed up to her hinds, letting her front legs step onto the mattress.

At meeting no immediate collapse, she tempted fate further, her lean body tensing before she jumped up on top. The bed gave an ominous creak and they both froze, Lexa looking down at it like she was ready to jump ship the second it showed signs of caving in—but nothing followed, they both relaxed and Lexa even glanced up at her with a proud doggy grin.

Clarke couldn’t resist a smile too. “Well done, you haven’t broken my furniture.” She teased, and Lexa mock bowed by lowering her head to her paws, which was quite possibly the cutest thing she’d ever seen. “Though the dog fur is going to be a pain to get out the sheets.” She added with a frown.

Lexa nipped her leg in retaliation for that, seeming to ignore Clarke’s offended yelp.

She still wasn’t entirely sure how Lexa thought her new form would help, but then she came forward until she was almost walking on top of her, her paws bracketing Clarke’s legs. Lexa leant down and gently grabbed the cold water bottle with her teeth, lifting it and dropping off to the side. She shuffled a little further and then slowly lied herself down so she was laid on top of her.

Lexa placed her warm head on Clarke’s stomach.

Clarke’s grin crept on slow as she realised Lexa’s plan. “Oh, so _you_ are going to be my hot water bottle, are you?”

Lexa let out an affirming grunt. She was a heavy weight on her, but she was warm and solid and Clarke felt something empty yawn inside of her. She had to blink a few times, to rid whatever was trying to thicken her throat, but then Lexa was whining and nudged herself a little closer.

Clarke raised her hand, ran her fingers through the thick dark brown coat at her back. It was surprisingly soft and the sigh that fell out of her came from her soul. “I know you have a reputation and all,” Clarke murmured, continuing to feel through the ruff of her fur. Lexa blinked slowly at her. “But you are _really_ adorable right now and you’ve probably lost all ability to intimidate me.”

Lexa growled and Clarke felt the vibration of it in her belly, but in contradiction when Clarke only laughed and brought her hands to Lexa’s ear, scratching just behind it, Lexa’s eyes fell close and her tail thumped against the bed. It took absolutely everything in her to hold in the burst of laughter, but something must have slipped out anyway because Lexa growled lowly again and pulled her head away.

She glanced over her shoulder, glaring at her traitorous tail like if she stared at it hard enough it would stop revealing she had feelings.

The chuckle finally broke out of her and Clarke stroked a placating hand over her head. “It’s fine, Lexa, leave it. I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

Lexa kept on glaring at her thumping tail, but when a pulse in Clarke’s gut made her wince, her eyes were instantly back on her and her head was on her stomach again. And Clarke wasn’t sure whether it was because of the warmth of the fur and body pressed on her, or if it was merely through Lexa’s presence alone, but the aching discomfort drifted until it was a barely registering pain at the back of her mind. Clarke didn’t notice the soft smile that spread on her lips but Lexa must have, because suddenly there was a quiet rumble in the air, reverberating against her stomach, Lexa’s tail playing a consistent beat against the sheets.

And maybe today wasn’t so terrible after all.

She didn’t know how much time had passed until her bedroom door opened again. Clarke was in the early stages of drifting, just mindlessly scratching behind Lexa’s ears and stroking her fur. The persistent rumble still thrummed through her and she was sure that Lexa was being pulled into the thrall of the relaxed feel of it all too.

The door opening forced her to bring herself back, blinking slowly before she tilted her head and watched as Raven came in. Lexa’s head popped up too.

“Hey so Clarke I’m going to head out and—oh _fuck_ what the fuck is—” Raven stumbled back in her cursing, staring with wide eyes at what Clarke would assume quite an a sight. Rarely was the situation where you had a massive werewolf laid on top of you a calm one. Raven’s jaw dropped, frantically glancing back and forth between her and the wolf on her bed. “Is that—is that Lexa?”

Lexa’s ear swivelled. She gave no indication to Raven’s question, just glanced back at Clarke. Clarke frowned. “I’m not being your translator, you chose this.” Lexa leant to her side and nipped Clarke’s hand. Clarke hissed and was absolutely sure that if Lexa had a human face right now, she’d be arching a brow at her.

She resigned herself to being the middleman.

“Yeah, it’s Lexa,” she sighed, glaring at the aforementioned werewolf the entire time. If she bit her again she was kicking her out.

Raven grew a wicked grin. “Seriously? Oh my god, I’ll be right back, just stay there, _stay right there_.”

And not a breath later she was running out the room.

Lexa looked at her and tilted her head in question. How the hell Clarke managed to resist the urge to bring her forward and kiss the spot between her ears she didn’t know.

Raven came rushing in soon after. She was panting and whipped out her phone, immediately dropping to her knees and aiming the camera at them. “Okay,” Raven breathed, grinning wildly. “Give me a smile.”

Lexa grunted and laid her head back down on Clarke’s stomach, ignoring her completely. She stared up at her with those green eyes and Clarke shook her head with an exasperated smile. She was such a little shit.

Raven clicked her tongue. “Oh come on, why not? We’ve been over this hot stuff, I’ve got nothing to gain in exposing you guys. This is just for me. Wait, no, for science! Exactly, it’s for science. Do you care nothing for humanity’s development?”

Lexa continued ignoring her. Clarke snuck a hand out and toyed with Lexa’s ear.

“Oh for— _fine_ , okay fine. What if I give you five bucks?”

No reaction.

Raven bit her lip. “Ten?”

Nothing.

Raven rolled her eyes. “Jesus, fine, how about twenty?”

Lexa’s eyes flicked to her then. Raven lit up at getting a reaction, but when Lexa went no further she deflated again. She narrowed her eyes at her.

“Thirty. Final offer.”

Lexa’s head popped up, but right as Raven’s grin widened Lexa instead reached for something at Clarke’s side. She felt gentle teeth settle around her hand and carefully Lexa raised it. Both her and Raven frowned, but then Lexa nudged Clarke’s limp fist open until her fingers were spread out. She bumped her wet nose into her palm, pawed at it and then looked expectantly at Raven.

Raven’s confusion only fell deeper. “Five?” she muttered, her brow furrowed, and when Lexa huffed, clearly disgruntled, the understanding seemed to finally hit. “Fifty? You want me to give you _fifty_ dollars for a fucking photo?”

Lexa only stared back at her, completely serious. Clarke tried to be offended, as she figured it was her best friend duty, but the idea of Lexa scamming Raven out of fifty dollars was too hilarious to even pretend she wasn’t enjoying every second of it.

Raven cursed and threw out a hand at her. “That’s insane! What do you even need the money for? You’ve got a whole fucking _pack_ and shit, what the hell is it worth to you?”

Lexa just flicked her tail, and right as she was about to put her head back down onto Clarke again, Raven swore under her breath and gave in.

“Goddammit _fine_ , you stupid fucking dog. I’ll give you fifty all right?”

Clarke let out a disbelieving laugh and Lexa’s tail starting thumping again at hearing it. “Seriously Lexa? In my own home?”

Lexa looked entirely too pleased with herself.

Raven made an expectant noise, but when Lexa just stared back Clarke realised what was happening and laughed again.

“I think she wants you to pay up front Rae,” Clarke grinned, and Raven sighed so loudly it was like she had never been so pained before. She glared at them both before getting up to her feet and slipping out the door. When she came back it was with her opening her wallet in her hands and bitterly muttering under her breath about how werewolves were money hungry dogs. Raven slapped the fifty down on the mattress just in front of Lexa, Lexa sniffing it and eyeing it carefully as if to assure herself it wasn’t fake. With a satisfied grunt she picked it up with her teeth and placed it on the opposite side, next to Clarke’s hand and out of Raven’s immediate reach.

Smart woman.

“Alright, is _that_ enough your royal bitch ass highness?”

Lexa growled a little too lowly at the insult, but when Clarke swatted her side the sound soon stopped. She leant up and looked at Raven, gave a big doggy sigh before she pulled her lip up in the closest imitation a wolf could do to a smile, all red gums and white teeth. Raven fumbled for phone in her haste, grinning so wide and open it was like she’d found a diamond buried in the dirt. The flash went off couple times—both her and Lexa winced—and Raven continued taking photos for a good minute or so from various angles before finally nodding satisfied.

She stood up, eyes scanning her phone and as she swiped through the photos. She nodded again, slipped her phone back into her pocket, seeming to be so caught up in her excitement she forgot that Lexa had scammed her.

“ _Well_. There’s _my_ leverage for the next few years. I’m sending some of these to Anya by the way. Call it interest.”

Okay, maybe she hadn’t quite forgotten. Lexa let out a hilariously stressed bark but Raven was already cackling and strutting away with a truly vindictive gleam to her eye. Lexa’s gaze snapped to hers, seeming to search for support, but Clarke just scoffed and shook her head.

“Don’t expect sympathy from me. You used my hand to con my best friend. Which, while _incredibly_ amusing, I still probably shouldn’t be endorsing.”

Lexa whined and let head fall onto Clarke’s stomach with a huff. Her ears flattened until they were drooping and soft looking, but Clarke knew what Lexa was trying to do and glared at her.

“Hey, no, stop it. That’s cheating. Don’t do that.”

Lexa lifted her head briefly, brought her paws up until Clarke could feel the ends of her claws pressing into her shirt and Lexa could place her head on them.

How in the fuck was this happening for a second time with her?

“You’re such a little shit, you know that right?” Clarke grumbled, but her resolve crumbled and she reached out, stroking her ears and failing to contain her smile when Lexa’s tail thumped against the bed and her pleased rumbling started up again.

And it was a long, stretched moment. She heard the front door open and shut downstairs as Raven presumably left. Clarke knew she should have been feeling the usual trepidation and fear at the coming full moon tonight, but Lexa was a steady weight on top of her. Her heart wasn’t racing but fell into a gentle pace, the sun was leaking in through the window and crawling over them like tired roaming hands and she _forgot_ , for an entire second, she forgot of the fear and the pain and the worry.

“Hey,” Clarke whispered, smiling something soft and aching. It felt different and personal, only for them, and Lexa seemed to hear it too because her tail wagged a little faster and she moved her paws back down, nudged her hand with her nose and offered a small lick that had Clarke laughing and immediately snatching it away.

The realisation didn’t slam into her like she expected, but it spread over her slow and inevitable like dawn. Clarke stared at her while something tightened in her throat, and she pulled in a sharp breath, because she thought she knew. Knew it in that unspoken way. She didn’t think she was near enough ready for it to come tumbling off her lips in a blind confession, but there was the tip of something real there teetering on her tongue begging to be known.

At some point she got tugged back into the thrall again, her fingers lost their strength but they were stubborn things, they threaded and they ran on aimless until the pull finally won and they lost grip on consciousness. Still, they hung limply, still tangled in the warm fur like it mattered none what they weathered and went through; they’d hold on till the sun finally coughed out its last burning breath and not let go a second sooner.

Clarke thought it fitting.

-

“You’re falling for her.”

“Shut up, Raven.”

Clarke picked up her coffee and took a deep sip of it, and even if it was still a little too hot she ignored the slight discomfort of it burning down her throat and tongue. If only because with her eyes on her coffee, she didn’t have to look up at Raven, who was most likely staring at her like she was completely inept and the very definition of moronic.

Well, to be fair she always looked at her like that. But this was different and decidedly _worse_.

“That’s not a no. Like, you know that right? ‘Shut up’ does not mean ‘no’. Seriously, you’re aware of that, right?”

“I’m not talking about this with you.” Clarke muttered, glaring at her over the rim of the cup. Raven sighed and leant back in her chair, dragging her hands over her face with a loud groan. She let her arms slump to her sides and looked up as if in hope that some charitable god would step in and aid her.

Sadly for her, no such thing happened.

The coffee only helped a little to the exhaustion nagging at her. On the plus side at least she wasn’t as on edge, as the first night of turning had eased some of the building tension thrumming through her. Her body was sore though, it ached and so did her eyes and honestly she wasn’t quite sure how Raven convinced her to go out for lunch at the Dropship. She _did_ vaguely remember Raven kicking her out of her bed and muttering a string of something’s which, fair chance was insults directed against her, but in her half-dead mind all she’d heard was _food_ and she had mindlessly followed after.

She was severely regretting her decision now. At least in her own bed she wouldn’t be forced into an interrogation of which she’d rather willingly stick her hand in molten lava than face.

“Seriously wolfie, how long do you want to chase your tail over this?”

“What part of ‘I’m not talking about this with you’ do you not understand?”

Raven picked up a fry off her plate and threw it at her. Clarke didn’t quite catch it as she did bat it away just before it could hit her face. Fuck sake, she didn’t even have the energy to _catch_ a chip let alone address the whole _there is a supremely high chance you’re falling for a werewolf who controls twelve separate packs that all want to kill you._

And the most terrifying part being she didn’t know whether it’d be worse or not if she wasn’t alone in this. Because if she wasn’t, if there’d been a simple answer all along of why just being in Lexa’s presence alone was enough to have all the tension bleeding out of her, what the hell did she do then? What did _they_ do then?

Clarke scowled. This is exactly the thought process she did _not_ want to explore when she was exhausted to the bone. Or just explore full stop.

“Why can’t you admit this?”

Clarke let her palm sit on the edge of the table. It curled into a fist. “There’s nothing to admit.” She said, but it came out through gritted teeth that spoke the complete opposite.

Raven barked a sharp enough disbelieving laugh that a few of the café’s other patrons glanced at them. “Oh sure, and _I'm_ fucking the Queen of England.”

Clarke was too tired to even be embarrassed. She would have fallen dead asleep on their table already if her heart wasn’t racing abnormally fast. And wasn’t that ironic? The very cause of every restless night and skin was scared shitless at the fact it might have already lost itself.

 _Might have_ , Clarke thought bitterly. Yeah, it was the _indecision_ that was terrifying her. Not at all that she’d watched the stupid thing jump right out into another’s hands from a single goddamn glance alone.

“Will you quit being a stubborn fucking idiot and be an adult about this?” Raven snapped, and Clarke’s eyes jerked to hers, her nostrils flaring.

“Oh, you want to be an adult about this? You can insult me all you want for it but you’re _exactly_ the same way, Raven.”

Raven scoffed. “Yeah? And how’s that?”

Clarke fell back into her chair and crossed her arms. “You and Anya.”

It was clearly not at all what she expected her to say. Raven actually paused with her mouth half open, her brow furrowing. “What about us?”

“ _That_ exactly. That there’s an _us_. Don’t come at me about Lexa if you’re going to blatantly ignore _your_ situation too because it’s convenient.”

“We’re not—” Raven pressed her lips together and glared at her. Clarke only raised a brow. “Figures. _Fucking_ figures that you’re immediately deflecting your own shit to me.”

Clarke lost just some of her fire then. There was something suspiciously close to guilt that settled uncomfortably in her chest, but she didn’t back down, not completely. Raven must have seen it because Clarke saw the frustration light itself in her eyes, until all at once it suddenly caved with another caustic and bitter laugh. Eventually Raven just threw out her hands in a defeated gesture.

“You know what? Fuck it, why not. If it’ll get _you_ to actually grow the fuck up for a second, then fine. Yeah. I like her. I like Anya. There? Was that so goddamn difficult?”

It was absolutely not how she expected this to go. Clarke’s eyes widened, and her arms slowly loosened until they were at her sides again. “You do?” she pushed, dumbfounded, and while Raven soured and her glare was getting harsher, she shrugged.

“Yeah. ‘Course.” She said, like it was casual and about as obvious as the sun. “Have you _seen_ how hot she is? I mean, holy fuck man. I almost considered going to church.”

“That’s…” Clarke forced herself to actually react appropriately and not just continue staring at her in shock. She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. “Uh, yeah, okay. That’s… good Rae. That’s good.”

Raven arched a brow. “Eloquent.”

Clarke threw a fry at her this time. It was incredibly satisfying to see it hit her right in the face.

Raven cursed at her, but a moment later she was shrugging and snatching the fry from where it had bounced off her nose and landed on the plate. She threw it in her mouth and pointed an accusing finger at her. “Right. Your turn. Share with the class.”

“I’m going to kill you, Raven.”

“Been making that threat for over a decade, Griff. Really lost its edge.”

Clarke blinked a few times. “Damn, that long?”

Raven chuckled again, but this one actually seemed to be at least a little genuine. “Might as well get our walking canes, right?”

“Gotta get those electronic strollers. Run all bystanders over.”

Raven smirked. “We could use Bellamy as target practice.”

Clarke sighed wistfully. “If only.”

“If only.” Raven repeated, surprisingly solemn and serious. Clarke wouldn’t really put it past her to legitimately do that if the time ever came.

The air wasn’t quite so tense between them anymore. Clarke almost thought she’d escaped, but Raven was always too smart for her own good and probably clocked it immediately of her attempt to diverge the conversation away. She still had the expectant look on her face, her arms crossed and immovable.

It only really hit Clarke then that Raven had probably planned this from start. Had waited until she was exhausted, as forcing a confession was always far more efficient when you were far too tired to even bother a feeble attempt at previously impenetrable walls.

When Raven saw that Clarke was still holding strong, she rolled eyes and slumped into chair. “Fine. If you want to play that way.” She muttered, and Clarke only watched with narrowed eyes as Raven leant to pick up something at her side.

It was her phone. Raven unlocked it and opened whatever it was she wanted, looking hesitant for just a second before she placed it on the table and flipped it around so it was facing Clarke. Clarke just stared at it confused, but then Raven sighed and gestured impatiently at her.

“Look, on the screen.”

Blindly following instructions from Raven was always a gravely dangerous gamble, but still Clarke leant forward, cautiously taking the phone and bringing it closer to inspect what Raven wanted her to see.

And honestly it wasn’t quite so surprising to see the photo she had taken of Lexa. She was unable to stop her soft smile, especially at realising that it was even worse in the best way from this angle. The bared teeth was more comical than threatening, and it was unavoidable the slow spread of warmth that bled into her chest at seeing it.

“ _That_ is what I mean.” Raven said, almost accusing, and Clarke looked up with a frown.

“What?”

Raven hesitated a moment, and dread and an awful knowing flooded Clarke immediately. “You only smiled like that once before,” she murmured, seeming to watch her carefully for a reaction.

It might have been a relatively warm day but the air dropped to subarctic levels within a heartbeat. The sudden silence was stifling, and it took Clarke almost an entire minute to regain the ability to speak again. She swallowed, glancing down at her hands and being forced to blink a few times. There was an overwhelming tight pain in her chest like there was barbed wire constricting around her heart.

“That is different.” Clarke whispered, hating the unshakable tremor in her voice that, really, she never expected to completely leave.

Raven sighed again, but this one was so _heavy_ she wondered how long Raven had been holding it. Maybe years. “Yeah, it is, because this time you’re terrified.”

It was like being shot with the silver bullet again. But the indignation that filled her was familiar, at least, was far easier to navigate than daring to think back on memories so raw they might as well have happened yesterday.

So she held on to that anger like the lifeline it was, glaring up at her and gritting her teeth. “I’m not doing this with you, Raven.”

Raven just shook her head slowly. “Come on, Clarke. You’re allowed to move on—”

“We’re not doing this.” Clarke snapped, sharper, and Raven seemed to finally realise she had pushed all she could.

She looked equally as frustrated as her. She seemed about to say something when Clarke’s phone went off with a sharp _ping_ that sounded so irrationally loud in the thick quiet that she almost jumped, but soon she was shooting one last warning glare at Raven before she reached for her phone. The only reason it still being working after Tristan being Raven’s doing.

It was her mother. Nothing special, just a question for how her day was going. Apparently she had dealt with some idiot who attempted to put a light bulb in their mouth after learning it from a fact online, that you could put it in but you couldn’t take it out, and, naturally, had been swept with the sudden desire to test if they were the exception.

They hadn’t been.

She texted back that her day was fine, omitting that just last night she’d paced in a cell on four legs, covered with fur, decked with wicked sharp teeth trapped in a snarling muzzle and dreaming of what the moon looked like when the clouds were feeling forgiving.

“Who is it?”

“My mum,” Clarke answered, slipping her phone back into her pocket. The tension between them eased, just the slightest, the surprise making Raven blink at her.

“You’re talking?”

Clarke shrugged. “Yeah. It’s… going surprisingly well.”

Raven glanced down at her near empty plate. She reached out and picked up a chip, but she held it in her fingers as her eyes flicked up to hers almost hesitantly. “You think you’re ever going to tell her?” she asked, and it was obvious she wasn’t quite sure just how much rope she had left. That stiff anger swept over her again but Clarke only sighed and nodded.

“Maybe.”

Raven’s eyes went wide. “Seriously?” she breathed, suddenly leaning forward. “You’re going to?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Clarke reiterated, only a bit exasperated.

Raven just rolled her eyes. Clarke swallowed, straightened up in her seat.

“I don’t know it’s just, I hate hiding it. When we were barely talking it was fine, but we’ve been talking so often and when we call I can hear it in her voice.” A frustrated breath came out and she clenched her hands, glanced up at the ceiling to find the familiar star scene splattered across. The entire universe reduced to strokes of paint. She almost smiled. “She knows I’m lying, but she’s too desperate to question it.”

A thought hit her and she scowled.

“I can’t believe I have to come out _twice_. You’d think once was goddamn enough.”

Raven snorted. “Yeah, that’s one thing I’ll never be jealous about.”

They shared a smile, and while there was something just off about it they both seemed to pretend it spread on easy.

The remaining legs of the conversation didn’t quite come back from the tension fully. Clarke was already feeling hungry again and ordered something more than the burger and steak sandwich she’d already eaten, perhaps enjoying it a little too much when the server looked between her and the empty plates like they were trying to figure out just where the hell all that food was going.

Clarke didn’t tell them she’d lose it all by nightfall.

They had just paid and were about to leave when Raven cursed and grabbed her wrist, urging her to sit back down. Clarke frowned, but complied, sitting slow and feeling that cold dread come back at seeing Raven actually look nervous.

“Okay, I’m going to tell you something and I need you not to panic.” Raven said slowly, a clear instruction that Clarke ignored immediately.

Her heart rate spiked and she lost her breath for a second, about a million panic inducing scenarios spinning through her head. “What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you hurt? Is everything okay? Is—”

“Griffin, you are literally already panicking, can you just get your shit together for one second?” Raven snapped, and Clarke with only a small amount of shame forced her jaw shut.

It took a moment, but Raven sighed relieved and dipped her head. “Alright, thank you,” she breathed, and waited another anxious beat before swallowing and continuing on cautiously. “So, uh, I was able to put it off yesterday but we’ve got a deadline coming up and I can’t do tonight with you.”

Clarke’s eyes widened and the panic seared that through her chest had her jumping forward, struggling to keep her voice below a shout as she hissed and her breathing came running up short. “Shit, _shit_ , Raven, I can’t—you _know_ that I—”

“Clarke, will you please stop _fucking_ panicking for fuck sake’s I’m—” She burst forward too and grabbed Clarke’s hands, forcing them down from where they’d been in the middle of throwing out in their panic. “ _Relax_. I’ve got a solution, alright? Just call your girl.”

But that just spawned an _entirely different panic_ and honestly Clarke thought her heart was going to be having some serious words with her soon. “My girl?” she repeated, frowning, and Raven let her head hit the table with a dull _thunk_.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Lexa, call _Lexa_. Have her do it.”

Her heart was trying to throw a mutiny again. “What? I can’t—she has a _pack_ , responsibilities, she can’t just—”

“Clarke, we both know damn well that won’t change a thing. She’ll say yes, just _call_ her and _ask_.”

They kept arguing back and forth until Clarke recognised the corner she’d been backed into and there really wasn’t any other choice. Raven couldn’t do it and Clarke still didn’t want to do it alone, couldn’t risk even just the most miniscule chance that something would go wrong and there’d be no one there to stop it. She could deny it all she wanted but she _had_ settled home here and she didn’t want to destroy that, let alone be the very cause of it.

So she slacked back into her chair, staring at the surviving breadcrumbs on her plate as reality came creeping up over her shoulders and pressed down her like sharp tipped talons. The silenced between them teethed, and Clarke pulled her phone back out, staring at it like any second now it’d explode in her hands. She didn’t look at Raven as she sighed shaky and held it up to her ear.

She hadn’t even finished her sentence before Lexa said yes.

And Clarke thought that fitting too.

-

Clarke paced just outside the door as she waited.

She was sweating and everything was so sensitive it was like she could almost _taste_ the thrum in the air, salty and overwhelming and leaving Clarke wanting to be anywhere but here. The walls felt closer than they were and never had the thought of standing barefoot out in the woods felt more alluring. It was a considerable effort to keep herself near the cold, sterile metal, to look out to the open door with her chest _lurching_ like her wolf was trying to pull her forward from inside.

She was so caught up in it, shutting her eyes tight and arguing with something that couldn’t speak that when she caught her scent, felt a hand brush her shoulder Clarke jolted back from it.

Lexa revealed peaceful hands, though one held an esky, keeping her head low and easy. “It’s alright,” she said, quiet and reassuring, and while Clarke’s entire body was thrumming, somehow her shoulders inched relaxed.

Clarke blinked a few times, waited until her heart wasn’t so racing anymore. It didn’t work and she supposed that’d always been a pipedream. “Sorry, I’m—I didn’t see you.”

It might have been dark, especially in the shadows of the warehouse but everything was sharper in her vision anyway, and so despite that Lexa looked surprisingly at ease there was a sheen of perspiration to her skin and an unescapable tension seizing in her muscles. Her pupils were already a little wider, and Clarke figured they didn’t have long.

Lexa apparently came to the same thought because her expression grew serious and she nodded at her as if Clarke had said something. She moved for the door, put in the code and while Clarke rationally knew that Raven had given her the passkey there was still an anxious twist to her stomach in that heartbeat before the lock _beeped_ and flashed green.

Lexa didn’t immediately go in as the door grunted and heaved itself open. Her fingers twitched at her side, and when she swallowed and glanced over her shoulder to where she’d come in from Clarke followed her gaze.

You could just make it out. The door to the outside was still cracked wide, and Clarke could see the edges of the forest waiting there through the gap. It rose up in her chest again, and her leg seemed to inch forward on instinct alone, there was something distinctly wild beating under her skin and _god_ —it felt like she’d rather be dragged out the back and shot down than force another night in a cold moonless, treeless, earthless cell.

Lexa’s gaze shifted to meet hers. The urge retreated back to wherever it always settled to, and when Lexa finally threw one last glance before moving into the cage, Clarke was trailing behind her at her heels even if the animal in her snarled pitiful and defeated deep under her ribs.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? The pack will be okay without you?” Clarke asked, not for the first time, and it seemed they both watched the door haltingly slide close until it was sealed fully.

For a moment Lexa just smiled at her, even if there was something oddly heavy in her eyes. It disappeared when she sighed. Seeming to try for annoyed but something fond was still lingering in the sound. “Yes, Clarke. I wouldn’t have agreed to otherwise.”

Clarke shifted on her feet. Ignored the roll of nausea in her stomach that she wasn’t sure was due to nerves or the moon. “You’ve never been caged though. And before, you almost attacked Raven for it.”

Lexa’s eyes flicked to her, sobering now. “I was fighting the urge to change and had been caught by surprise. I didn’t… I did not know you’d been here, not on the outside. It was different. I know it now, and I understand this is something you know you must do.” She dropped the esky off to the side and even shot her a smile that was dangerously close to a smirk. “I believe I shall survive a night caged with you.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, and she would have shot something back but a stab of pain hit her stomach and she grunted, cursing and her leg jerking back. Lexa was next to her in an instant yet Clarke just waved a hand, trying to steady her breathing as she leant back up. “I’m fine, it’s fine. Just… was hoping I’d have a bit longer.”

Lexa glanced up as if to check the moon, but she blinked at seeing the ceiling and Clarke laughed, just a little, because somehow she had the same expression of annoyance like when she’d been a wolf lied on top of her and glaring at Raven.

Her time was gone though. The next wave would come and it’d only get worse. Holding it off always increased the pain, and really, she just wanted this over and done with. She sighed, forced her feet to move until she was at the metal gate and slipping the key in.

She had it halfway opened and was stepping in when she realised that Lexa was close behind her. The intention was obvious and Clarke’s eyes snapped to hers, and it must have been noticeable what she was going to say because already was Lexa frowning at her and opening her mouth for rebuttal.

“You can’t—”

“Clarke, I’ll be fine. You remember what happened last time, I was completely fine you didn’t even—”

“ _No_.” Clarke repeated, stepping back, her voice hard and immovable. “I’m not risking it. Just wait outside, please.”

Lexa tried to come forward but Clarke shut the gate. She sighed sharply through her nose and glared at her through the bars, holding on to them tight enough the metal almost creaked. “I can protect myself, and even if you did lash out—which you _won’t_ —you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Clarke laughed again, but it was cold now and drenched in ache. “Yeah? We’d still get a body, you’d end up killing me and it wouldn’t—”

“No.” Lexa interrupted, her voice sharp. When Clarke’s brow creased, Lexa released a shuddered breath and shook her head from where she still stood on the other side of the bars. “No. I would never, do you understand? Never.”

Her eyes kept shifting back and forth, bright and desperate and even if Clarke found herself wanting to be pulled in she retreated, moved back, hard eyes and jaw set hiding the pounding, frantic beat of her heart like if it _just_ went hard enough it could break through her skin and shove open the gate itself.

It was the opposite of hidden though, Clarke could hear it deafening and she had no doubt Lexa could too. She could only hold her gaze for a heavy beat before the pain hit again, this was one harder and rougher and right in her chest. It hit Lexa too. Grew more aggressive until it forced her down on her knees, one hand still holding on to the one of the bars in the gate.

And Clarke knew if she wanted that Lexa could so easily rip it open anyway. She watched her as the agony forced Clarke to her knees too, and really she wasn’t at all surprised to see Lexa let loose the defeated and frustrated snarl before she let go, let it take, and she could only hurriedly pull her shirt over her head in the heartbeat before she lost the right to be named human at all.

Her own wolf was only a second behind. Clarke just barely got everything off in time, and the fleeting thought of relief at knowing she wouldn’t lose any of her wardrobe tonight was so oddly mundane she almost laughed.

She tried to, but it got lost to a scream and her conscience was soon stolen too.

-

Like always, it took a few minutes even after it was over to adjust.

The staleness of the air smelt a thousand times drier like this. The pale light stung her eyes, leaving her aching for the dim streaks of it that’d come from the full moon and left the rest into the trust of night. It felt strange and unnerving under her paws too, no depth or grip or texture, just that unnatural smooth floor.

Her attention wasn’t on that though. She shook her fur and settled into the new body, immediately seeking out the now hulking form of Clarke, hunched and panting and struggling up to four paws. It took her a little longer to adjust, the massive barrel shape of her ribs heaving as newly muscled limbs found their strength.

Lexa padded over to where she’d placed the esky. It was a tad difficult manoeuvring the lid off with only teeth and paws, but she got there, grunted satisfied and propping herself up on her hinds. She dug the claws of her front legs into the lip of the box, intending to lean in and carefully pull the bag out but she miscalculated her weight and instead the box just fell flat forward.

The bag of meat came sliding out as Lexa jumped back.

She stared at the red streaks on the floor.

…Yeah, she could clean it in the morning.

She grabbed the handles of the plastic bag with her teeth, holding it secure clamped in her jaw as she crept over back to the cage. Clarke was up well and fine now, and while there was a second where her ears flicked and she lowered her head—she eased, her hackles remained low and when Lexa came up close enough she was nosing through the too-small gaps of the bars Clarke was too.

The bag dropped from her mouth. She knew Clarke could already smell the raw meat, was already trying to paw and nose at it. It was starting to come apparent that plastic really wasn’t made with an animal’s limitations in mind and it took an irritating amount of time to _finally_ free the meat from its prison. She managed to snag a steak off the pile and through a two team effort they somehow succeeded in passing from muzzle to muzzle.

Clarke ate it quick, but Lexa had gotten a fair few amount of steaks and wasn’t worried.  

She ended up chewing and gobbling down a couple too. She got enough through the bars that by the end Clarke was lying down looking nothing like a killer. Lexa lied down too, and she nosed the crack in the bars only for Clarke to lean forward and offer an affectionate lick.

Her tail thumped but it wasn’t so mortifying when she saw Clarke’s was too.

The night dragged on lazy and she would have hated every second in the tight confined quarters if Clarke’s scent wasn’t thick in her nose, yellow eyes that should have been burning now soft and warm—and sure, sometimes they flashed when the frustration at being restrained, at being so _close_ yet so far from each other. In those moments she was earning her title and it took Lexa whining and even _snarling_ at her just to get through.

And it worked, mostly. When Clarke threw herself against the bars and the _clang_ reverberated throughout the room Lexa barked and snarled at her until she eased, until she realised that the only thing she’d achieve in throwing herself was bruises in the morning. When she was calm again, when she fell heavy behind the bars and trying to paw through them to reach her Lexa moved in as close as she could so it did.

At some point they adjusted. Both lied down horizontal against the wall of metal and so tightly packed her fur was leaking into where she couldn’t go. But Clarke’s was too, and it didn’t feel enough but it was enough for now, Lexa could feel the warmth of her and they were _almost_ like they were pressed into each other.

She tried to reach her snout through as they lied there, but the best she could get was their noses just touching.

Clarke’s rumble was quiet and content, it vibrated against her body and Lexa felt any remaining shreds of tension bleed out of her as it did. She tried to inch herself a little closer, wasn’t sure if she succeeded, but it still felt like she had either way. She was blinking slow as she watched her, and Clarke seemed to be observing her in the same way too. So close, Lexa could just about see the reflection of herself in the pupil of her yellow eyes.

Sleep took over them slow.

-

The first time Clarke woke up, it was to Lexa in front of her deep asleep.

And honestly she wasn’t even that convinced she was completely awake either. She was conscious enough to feel the familiar ache in her body, though it wasn’t near as bad as it usually was for some reason. But her eyes were still heavy and her body was still lazy and weak.

She opened her eyes and saw Lexa there. Human and so much softer asleep. Her mind might still be dragging through mud just to think, but she briefly ran her tongue along her teeth, tasting the backs and the front and her gums.

No blood. No flesh, no fur. Lexa’s face wasn’t contorted in pain and that copper scent wasn’t pungent in the air. She was fine. She was perfectly fine.

She felt something twitch in her hands. She frowned a little, looked down to the floor in front of her and saw her hand splayed out by the gaps in the bars. Lexa’s hand was there too, just the tips grazing on top of her own. She stared at their hands without really processing it, but when she saw Lexa’s hand twitch again, she reached out. Her fingers crept in until they slipped between Lexa’s own and entwined together.

She’d thought Lexa was asleep, but Lexa’s hand adjusted and tilted to accommodate hers too. Her eyes flicked up to see Lexa staring directly at her. Clarke’s smile was half stolen by sleep, but she saw Lexa’s eyes soften to this shade she’d never seen before and even sleep couldn’t take that from her.

The last thing she felt was Lexa squeezing her hand tighter.

-

The next time she woke Lexa wasn’t there.

There was a blanket on her now. She pushed herself up so she was sitting with a grunt, holding the blanket up and glancing to the now unlocked and swung open gate. She saw the main door was open too and Raven was leaning against it with a book in her hand.

The sound of her moving had caught her attention. Raven jumped and her gaze snapped up, grinning at seeing she was awake. “See? Whadda tell ya? Worked out fine.”

Clarke frowned, glancing to where Lexa had been. She hadn’t dreamed it had she?

“Where is she?” she asked, and after a moment grit her teeth and managed to get herself to her feet. Standing up just reminded her how dead tired she was and she had to hold on to one of the bars to keep upright.

Raven shut her book and shrugged. “I got here around six. You’re welcome, by the way. Must have heard me outside, I guess. She was already dressed and made me wait here till you woke up.” She rolled her eyes as if Lexa was still here. “Never mind I’d literally already been doing that for years. Whatever. Said she had business, make sure the pack hadn’t lost their minds or something. Chucked a blanket over you and left.”

Her pack. Right. Of course. The one she was leader of and responsible for.

Clarke took a moment standing there. She looked around and saw no evidence of a fight, _felt_ no evidence of one. And, in fact, instead of the frustrated and lingering vengeful feel of it in her blood she could have sworn her wolf was almost calm, sated, at least for now.

It shouldn’t have been much, but the more she thought on it the more she couldn’t hear anything over the hammering of her pulse.

-

The thought didn’t leave.

That morning she let Raven drive her home and collapsed into bed, asleep before she’d even hit the pillows, but her dreams weren’t an escape and actually made it _worse_. Because it was the same, mostly—the flashes, separated details, grey walls and bright lights—but then something else came bleeding in too.

Warmth. Physically, in the press of a warm body restricted by cold bars, and then inside, spreading gentle and all consuming across the both of them until she wasn’t even sure whose conscience it had started in. Nothing burning or craving in her, and she woke up in the early afternoon slowly, not in a jolt, her heart lazy in her chest.

Her sheets still smelt like her. Even if she was unable to wrestle the urge back in time to breathe it in deep, it got too much too quick because being smothered in her scent bred thoughts that made her feel like she’d forgotten how to be human completely. Her body was still aching, her stomach kept gnawing until she dragged herself downstairs and pulled open the fridge door with bleary eyes.

She blinked a few times, saw a note that Raven stuck inside. She picked it off the fridge’s shelf edge and squinted at it.

_You so much as breathe on my burrito and I’ll shoot more than just your shoulder. Final warning._

Well. Fair enough, honestly.

She shoved around aside and managed to find a couple left over raw steaks. It was surreal how she could almost _feel_ her wolf stir within and it only reminded her just how dangerous the full moon was. Still, it was a difficult pull to resist, and so only she bit her lip before grabbing the plate and setting it on the counter.

She stared at it. Then glanced to the stove and back. Thought about the effort of cooking.

Raven wasn’t home though.

It didn’t help at all in making her feel more human, but being starved on the full moon left little room for that. Her teeth ached, and when she ran her tongue over them they were sharper than before. She told herself she’d go vegetarian for a few days at least in compensation once the full moon was over.

She doubted she’d hold on to promise.

-

It hadn’t originally been her intention to be in the woods after she’d sufficiently eaten, but her route of where she’d been meaning to just walk the streets a little to satisfy the irrational claustrophobia—the one she always felt on these days—had somehow wound with the dirt under her feet and the fresh smell of trees and earth in her nose.

It still felt like running away.

She hadn’t stopped thinking it. Of waking and seeing Lexa there without a scratch of harm, not even a whisper of destruction in her own body. Lying on top of her with her head on her stomach. Of what Raven had said and urged and what it all inevitably meant.

Because she knew, always had. Maybe never entirely, but there’d always been something lingering in the air between them and she could only hold her breath for so long. So she walked, because she refused to run, the grass spread beneath her shoes and she breathed in deep at the damp earthen scent that foretold of rain, the clouds above forming but not quite there yet.

And it might have been calming for her soul, but even with her eyes closed she sensed it.

Movement.

She blinked her eyes open. She kept moving, even if she was almost certain there was someone trailing her. It took effort to hide her tension, but she hadn’t spent the past month and a half being repeatedly thrown into the ground for nothing. She’d been keeping her father’s hunting knife on her since the ordeal with Tristan and Quint a week ago. It’d felt uncomfortable at first and honestly still did, but at this point she refused to take any chances.

Her hand slowly drifted to into her jacket. She sniffed the air, tried to discreetly glance backwards, but the angle of the wind was hiding their scent. She stopped walking. Forced a deep breath, carefully unsheathed the knife as she took a sudden turn and weaving into the thick of the trees.

Her stalker sped up. Clarke did too. She could hear their breathing now, their steady heart, a twig snapped under their foot and she was so attuned to even the slightest breath of sound when she heard their clothes shift as they lunged; she was already spinning around too and branding her knife.

She side stepped their attack and shoved them into a tree barely a pace away, immediately bringing the blade to their throat and snarling at them, ready to—

Clarke blinked as she took the oddly pleased grin of the woman in front of her. “Good,” Lexa smiled, looking completely at ease and even a little _proud_ , despite the fact there was literally a knife digging into her neck.

Clarke’s eyes widened, but before she could pull away she glanced down at the feel of something sharp dig into her stomach.

Lexa had a knife poised at her waist, the tip of the blade just pushing in to Clarke’s shirt. “But you need to account for retaliation,” she smirked, like, _truly_ smirked and Clarke was all of a sudden well aware of just how close their faces were.

Her eyes glanced down like they always did, and she lingered for this dangerous, dangerous second until she was blinking and hurriedly pulling back and desperately ignoring her racing heart.

“Jesus, Lexa, you can’t just sneak up on people like that,” she hissed, but it wasn’t really with heat, and Lexa seemed to know because she only rolled her eyes.

“It’s training.”

“It’s a premature heart attack in waiting.”

“As I said, training.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Was that a joke?” she muttered, and she really hadn’t meant to be smiling by the end of it.

Lexa’s own smile actually widened. “You have no proof.”

It was the most playful she’d ever seen her. Something fluttered chest and it felt so obviously like they were hurtling into something she had no hope of coming back from. It was unavoidable that she ended having to stare at her a moment, taking in the lack of guard in her eyes and noticeable ease to her shoulders. She’d seen glimpses of it, but to see it so clearly in broad daylight was something else entirely and Clarke had to remind herself how to breathe.

Lexa’s smile wavered, concern leaking through in the silence, but then Clarke forced a laugh and shook her head. She stepped away, putting some much needed distance between them and hating the part of her that wanted so bad to do opposite. Like before, when they’d gotten in close and at her neck and her scent smothered hers.

Clarke frowned and shook the thought away. Blamed the stupid animal nature of the full moon.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, and Lexa was still watching her slightly concerned, but, gradually, she seemed to let it pass.

She sighed. “It… can be tiresome managing a pack on a full moon days in a row. It’s quiet here,” she added, softer, and Clarke softened some too. “I was walking. When I noticed you were too, I figured I should take advantage of the opportunity.”

Clarke glared at her for that, but Lexa just shrugged unapologetically.

And she knew what she should have done, yet somehow when Clarke went to tell her goodbye instead what came out was, “if we’re _both_ out walking, we might as well go together,” and Lexa was smiling again and how the hell could she back out in face of that?

Lexa nodded, stepped away from the tree Clarke had pushed her into before and Clarke was only halfway through wondering just how such a severe miscommunication had happened between her brain and her mouth when Lexa looked back at her—raised an expectant brow, a wordless question, and before she could even think on it she was following after her.

Because apparently her legs were ceasing communication with her brain too.

Another goddamn mutiny.

They walked in silence. It was comfortable, she settled into it with a worrying amount of familiar ease. The days of the full moon always had her restless and exhausted, but it lessened to the point she almost forgot, she drifted by with Lexa so close their shoulders were almost touching and did nothing but watch the woods breathe around them.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like this. The sun was glittering through the leaves in the trees and it was difficult to remember that her soul was so heavy.

“How’d it go?” Clarke asked, and Lexa blinked a moment before glancing at her. Her brow creased, clearly confused, and Clarke went on to elaborate. “Raven said you had to check on the pack this morning.”

Understanding dawned and Lexa nodded. “Yes, it went well. No fights, thankfully.”

Clarke’s smile spread on slow. “You often break up fights?”

Lexa sighed and shook her head. “You have no idea.”

Clarke laughed a little at that, and she saw Lexa’s lips twitching up now too.

The quiet stretched between them a moment.

“But, uh, with the pack, because I know you’re… alpha.” The word tasted strange and unfamiliar in her mouth, but it seemed to garner Lexa’s curiosity, her pace even slowing as she focused on her more fully. Clarke wasn’t nervous, but she spent a moment longer than she should have choosing her words carefully. “I would figure as their alpha you would have to run with them. Lead them out, and all that.”

Something tightened in Lexa’s face. She actually stopped walking completely, Clarke just catching herself in time. She would have said something, but Lexa’s expression was nothing like before and she almost seemed to be struggling to meet her eyes, and it was so obvious that Clarke had said the wrong thing that she immediately went to back track.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I should have known better, just forget I ever—”

But Lexa reached out and gently grabbed Clarke’s wrist, stopping her midsentence. “No, Clarke it’s… No, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

It very clearly wasn’t. And while Clarke had no idea _why_ , the only thing she cared about now was soothing the strain she could see on Lexa’s face. The pain there, hidden yet so obvious in her eyes. “Lexa,” she said, softly, and she reached up her free hand to the grip Lexa still had on her wrist. Carefully unwinding the fingers and bringing her hand back down, loosely holding them. “It’s fine, we can forget it.”

Lexa frowned. She slowly pulled her hand out from Clarke’s hold, and Clarke pretended her heart didn’t clench and she wasn’t already missing the warmth of it. Lexa stood there silent for almost an entire minute. Dread was mounting up within her as she internally kicked herself again and again because she should have _expected_ this.

Lexa had accepted her request to stay the night with her so quickly. When she’d asked her if the pack would be okay she had smiled at her, that sad sort of smile, where the curve of her lips was well worn and knowing. Clarke knew there’d been something heavy behind it. She should have never prodded.

But Lexa had always been good at surprising her.

She pulled in a careful breath, her eyes out to the trees as she spoke. “I lost someone,” she said, so quiet Clarke found herself stepping closer without realising. Lexa’s eyes flicked to her, once, as her throat bobbed and her jaw clenched before glancing away again. “She… her name was Costia. She was killed, years ago.”

Clarke stared at her, even as Lexa still wasn’t meeting her eye. Her chest ached at the obvious strain of pain and grief in Lexa’s voice, in the way she kept staring out into the woods like if you followed it just right, forgot who you were, it’d lead to somewhere far kinder than here.

Slowly, Lexa blinked, and her gaze shifted to her hands. “You remember what I told you, before? About the Azgeda pack. The constant fighting and war. She stayed out of it, had never had taste for war. I loved her. She saved me, during it, made sure I never lost myself. It was something I could never repay.”

“Lexa,” Clarke whispered, but Lexa frowned and shook her head.

She glanced up. Finally met her eyes. “It feels wrong. To… to run without her. I’d gotten so used to it, and I know there’d always be a moment, where I glance to the side and expect to find her there but…”

She wasn’t sure whether it was the right thing to do, but her arm seemed to be reaching out of its volition, gentle and nervous as she nudged at Lexa’s hand. It took a moment, but carefully their fingers crept in together until they were entwined. Clarke brushed her thumb over Lexa’s knuckle.

“It’s not the same,” she murmured, and Lexa swallowed again before nodding stiffly.

“No, it’s not.”

Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t so tense as before. Clarke took in a deep breath in and out and found a little strength in it. Lexa’s admission felt something like a permission for her own.

She briefly closed her eyes and sighed. What was one more log to the fire, right?

“It helped. With you staying, last night. It… it helped.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “I’m glad,” she offered, and it sounded completely genuine.

Clarke bit her lip, but eventually the thought kept knocking too incessantly behind her teeth and she couldn’t ignore it anymore. “I want you to stay again, but for real.”

“For real?” Lexa repeated, but her lip was twitching up now.

Clarke would have pushed her shoulder, but their hands were still joined and she knew if she did Lexa would just pull her with her. She settled for a mild glare. “ _For real_. For real, as in… in the cage. With me.”

Lexa grew serious then, the mischief falling away as her eyes starting flicking between Clarke’s own. Like she wasn’t sure if the offer was genuine. “You are sure?” she asked, in a whisper.

“Only if you can, or want. It’s fine if—”

“I will.”

Clarke stepped back a little. Somehow found herself doing exactly what Lexa had a second before. Listening and scanning over her to try determine any hint of regret or uncertainty. Lexa held her eyes steady, squeezed her hand as if to both anchor and assure, and annoyingly it worked.

Both relief and dread unfurled under her ribs, but the small smile that spread was unavoidable and it only worsened when she saw Lexa doing the same.

-

She was waiting again.

She knew it wouldn’t be long. Clarke stood leaning against the metal door, clenching and unclenching her hands with restless energy. There was a thin sheen of perspiration to her skin and she forced her eyes closed, tilting her neck up and focusing the cool feel of the metal at the back of her head. Her pulse was desperate, and she knew she couldn’t even blame it fully on the moon, something that was usually such a reliable consumer of blame.

She forced a steadying breath. The restlessness was brimming just under her skin, and carefully, so very carefully, she dared to fall into it.

“I want to remember,” she whispered, frowning. She didn’t feel anything obvious and she swallowed the frustration down.

How do you beg to something that can barely even speak? That had no mouth or face to see? The only times she’d ever _heard_ its presence over felt was during the full moon, when it lingered so close to the surface it was barely a toe away from the line of control. She’d never tried communicating with it before. Had never wanted to. She’d spent years downright refusing to admit its existence, that when it pawed at her she did nothing but step away and shut the door.

“Just tonight,” she went on, under her breath, and slowly her eyes opened, staring up in the dark of the warehouse. Her gaze seemed to track to the window of its own violation, and she could see the near black sky, the moon sure to follow soon. Her nails dug so hard into her palm it stung. “I want to remember.”

She was feeling more and more like an idiot the longer nothing happened. Eventually she sighed, scoffing bitterly and muttering her frustration with a scowl. The hell was she even doing? She’d felt foolish the second she had asked Lexa in the forest to stay and it only worsened now. It’d been a stupid idea from the start. She had never wanted to remember, not since _then_ , because she knew it’d only be so, so much worse, to be trapped useless in the mind of it again.

But she had woken this morning to Lexa there free of harm.

And while it might feel a little like betrayal to a grave long cold, she _wanted_ it, she did. That she couldn’t deny. Just for tonight though, just so she could know. It might be stupid and selfish and something that sat far beyond what she deserved but—

_Remember._

Clarke froze. She blinked, slowly, glanced around even if she already knew it redundant. It wasn’t the type of sound you forgot. Something that sounded like a voice but wasn’t, low and like gravel, more a rumbling growl than words—because it didn’t matter how much it spoke, it’d always still be bound to the restraints of an animal.

“Tonight,” Clarke said, almost breathless, her throat suddenly so dry it was like she’d never tasted water.

 _Remember_ , it said again, and Clarke had never felt so simultaneously terrified and relieved. She straightened though when she heard approaching steps, and not longer after caught the sight of Lexa coming through the warehouse door. Lexa’s eyes scanned inside until they met Clarke’s, and her shoulders fell, smiling soft and pleased.

“Remember,” she muttered just one last time, looking away so Lexa couldn’t see. Her voice too low to hear.

It didn’t say anything this time, but she could have sworn she felt something. A weight in her chest, like it was _there_ , like it was settling.

“Hey.” Lexa greeted her, smiling, and Clarke smiled a little too.

“Hey,” she offered back, like nothing had happened.

Like the moment before hadn’t been so monumental she knew damn well she’d never come back from it.

-

Her confidence wavered fast.

And—yeah, at this point, she should have expected that by now.

Lexa had just closed the gate but it still felt to her like she was on the _wrong_ side, in with her instead of out. The sudden overwhelming urge to go back on her word and shove her to the other side had her mouth already opening, dread making her heart pound so fast she could barely hear, because there was a massive difference between being with her out in the forest and _trapped in a cage with no escape_.

The panic was already spiralling on its own, no doubt worsened by the influence of the moon but Lexa seemed to have expected it, already moving forward and grabbing one of Clarke’s hands. She stepped in and brought her other to slip around to Clarke’s neck, pulling them close until their foreheads pressed to one another. Tugged Clarke’s hand until it settled and flattened over where Lexa’s heart would be.

“Just breathe,” Lexa whispered, and Clarke could feel the breath of her words on her lips. In any other circumstance, on any other day, that would have consumed all her attention and rendered any other function completely useless.

But the searing fear was familiar and overwhelming. She tried to listen though, closed her eyes and attempted a steady breath. Her fingers curled into Lexa’s shirt, pushed in until she felt it, the steady, quiet beat.

It was a little faster the usual. The fault of the moon. Probably. Maybe.

Not entirely.

Clarke tensed. Sighed shaky and trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“It’d be so easy,” she breathed, and she hated the crack in the voice. The heat behind her eyes.

“I trust you.”

Clarke opened her eyes. Lexa was so close she was almost blurry, but she seemed to sense her staring. She leant back too. “You shouldn’t.” Clarke said, struggling to swallow.

It didn’t really make sense. How Lexa’s eyes were sad but the corner of the mouth was twitching up. The hand behind her neck shifted, so it was instead gently tucking a lock of hair behind Clarke’s ear. “I trust you,” she said again, softer, but the way she said it, the way the entire universe narrowed to just the space between them.

It sounded like she was saying something else.

And for a terrifying second, she almost said it back.

She bit her tongue to stop it. Couldn’t bear to hold her eyes anymore, because she knew if she did it wouldn’t be long before she’d do something she couldn’t rescind. She focused only on the pulse thumping against her palm and _breathed_ , and slowly, like it always seemed to with Lexa, the panic receded back until it was distant in her mind.

They barely had a minute now. Clarke knew the moon was due up any second. Lexa seemed to realise it too, and even though they were still too close to even pretend it wasn’t significant, Lexa reached for the edges of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.

Clarke knew she should step away, but she didn’t. When her eyes flicked up she saw Lexa staring directly at her. Her pupils were wide now, and there was the smell of change in the air, electric and _thrumming_ and the sensation only echoed within her, skittering agitated under her skin. Lexa’s eyes were on her the entire time as she carefully reached out, gently grabbing the bottom of Clarke’s shirt. They stayed there and didn’t move, not until Clarke nodded once, distracted, and only then did Lexa slowly help pull her shirt off too.

Clarke watched her as she did. Her gaze drifted down, to Lexa’s stomach, when she defied everything and reached out, the tips of her fingers drifting feather light over the tense muscle. Lexa’s breathing sped up and it shook but when the first stab hit—savage and furious in her chest—Clarke ripped herself backwards, stumbling until her back hit the wall.

It wasn’t long till it hit Lexa too. She grunted, grimacing as her foot was forced back like an invisible hand had shoved her. When it subsided just enough Clarke could focus again, still panting through gritted teeth she glanced up at her. They met eyes, as something important and irreversible strung between them, but Clarke barely held it long before she was turning away and collapsing to the floor.

She forgot about her as she hastily rushed to rip everything off. She’d only just succeeded when there was a ripple of agony down her spine and a _crunch_ , wrenching a scream as it burst up, her hands being sent splaying out. She snarled then, deep and _animal_ and the change burned through her, her hair shrunk in as fur grew and spread along her skin. Her bones snapped and her body jerked, her scream stolen into something wilder as a snout forced itself through her face.

She barely made out Lexa’s own grunts and snaps from far beside her. The moon forced her wolf out in a violent rush and left no room for concentration on anything else. She felt the familiar sensation of her own mind being dragged back, lost grip on control of reality even if she was clawing the whole way to fight it.

When it was over, the pain gone as she breathed in deep with lungs far bigger and her pulse thudded in a heart twice its size, she was still only barely there. It wasn’t like that first night, not completely, like… like her wolf was almost _cautious_ —afraid, unsure and anxious on just how much rope to give when it’d adjusted too long to none.

The wolf glanced over to Lexa, now no longer human either, bringing herself up to her paws and giving a rough shake of her fur. Clarke was so far removed she might as well have been watching a game from outside the stadium, but she felt it, when the wolf looked to her and moved forward with its deadly muscle and its deadly claws and its deadly teeth.

It licked Lexa’s snout, and Lexa seemed to stare at it amused before she padded forward and licked its muzzle back too.

The wolf spent the rest of the night with her quiet and gentle, and Clarke remembered.

-

At the last of the full moon, she woke up not in pain.

She was still in her cage and the floor was cold like it always was, the light was too bright and the air was too stale. There were the usual aches in her body, but they were almost like afterthoughts, a given, too inevitable to ever quite rid of.

But her skin was clean. There no were bruises or scars this time. There was no leftover fury, lingering in the morning after the transformations, at realising once again it would be confined to a cage. She was warm, she realised, and the answer came in the body lied near her. It stung her eyes to peak them open, but she squinted through it, and the light adjusted to reveal the naked form in front of her.

They were so close, wrapped around each other with Lexa’s back to her. They must have found the position sometime during the night. Her eyes scanned over the tattoo that followed the line of Lexa’s spine. She had never seen it in its entirety before. Only in glimpses, peeking out from under a tank top or briefly revealed whenever she’d remove a layer and her shirt rode up.

It felt almost intrusive seeing it like this, but still she couldn’t resist raising her hand and gently tracing the ink. Lexa’s breathing quickened, then slowed, and when Clarke’s finger reached the base of her spine she let it glide back up, backwards this time, soft and just barely enough pressure to be felt.

Lexa made a noise. The rumbling one, and Clarke felt herself smile a little.

Though annoying when it was her who was making the sound, she found it pleasing when it was someone else. Because she knew what it was, too animal a sound to be tamed by something human and rational. It was unavoidable. The only way to stop it was to remove whatever was causing it.

The air softened into something gentler. The moment felt too delicate to broken by words. Logically, she knew she should say something. They were clearly both awake now. The full moon was passed. They had duties to resign to, roles to fall in and worries, precautions to take. Normally she’d never work on her turning days, especially the one just after the third night. She was always most exhausted then. Three nights of being torn apart and restless, slamming herself against the cage and gnawing the metal bars with her teeth always left her fatigued down to the bone.

But she found she wasn’t quite so tired now. Her body wasn’t as sore. She seemed to have managed to actually get some sleep.

Clarke let her finger stop at Lexa’s neck, where an infinity tattoo nested, though the solid line was partly broken into trailing dots at one side. It still felt like she was dreaming in a way, so she nudged herself a little closer, until their bodies were almost pressed together as if they weren’t separate beings at all.

Her finger trailed down again. She flattened her hand around the middle of her back and leant closer, lifted her head and tilted it so her ear was pressed against the warm skin. Lexa’s heartbeat was steady, though it stuttered it soon righted itself, and with her ear so close she heard the deep breath Lexa took in and flush out through her airways.

Clarke used her other hand to take her own pulse at her neck. She felt the sure tempo bump against her fingertips and listened closely to the one she could still feel beneath her ear.

They shared the same beat.

Maybe her heart had never been stolen. Only borrowed.

-

She was back at work.

It’d been days since the end of the full moon, but with the way it lingered in her memory it might as well have happened yesterday. Raven was, naturally, constantly hounding her over it and hadn’t relented since she’d gotten back home—for once _not_ looking like she’d just rolled out of grave. She’d only told her nothing went wrong and it was fine and Raven was definitely without a doubt plotting her murder.

Was it petty the enjoyment Clarke took out of being deliberately vague?

Perhaps, but that was neither here nor there.

Clarke finished the last of restocking of storage in the back. Wells usually left it to her mainly on account of the fact she could lift pretty much anything needed without much trouble. Wells always joked about her ‘ _supernatural_ ’ strength, and Clarke was sure her awkward laugh was probably ingrained into his memory.

She rolled her shoulders as she stepped back, shaking out the residual ache in her arms and slipping back out into the front of the store. She closed the door quietly, but when she stepped in Wells’ head popped up from where he was leaning against the counter, pausing from where he’d been scrolling his phone in his hand.

He smiled at her. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, no sweat.”

Wells laughed and shook his head. “Suppose some things don’t change.” He slid his phone back into his jacket pocket, tilting his head to the door. “Come on, I’m closing up early today.”

Clarke nodded. She went to around the counter, but when she checked it she couldn’t see her jacket. She frowned. She hadn’t exactly come in with it, but she’d had it for sure yesterday and had figured she’d accidentally left it here. “You’re having that lunch with your father, right?” she asked, not looking to him as she crouched down. She scanned over the space, but there was no sign of it.

When she stood back up Wells was sighing. “Indeed. How long do you think he’ll last before attempting to get me to join his company again?”

Clarke grinned at him. “Definitely before main course. Entrée maybe?” He glared at her, but she only frowned as she gave the counter another cursory glance. “You seen my jacket anywhere?”

His brow creased. “The dark blue one?”

“Yeah, I could have sworn I left it here.”

“Sorry, but I haven’t. You left with it on yesterday though if that helps.”

Clarke blinked slowly. _Right_ , she had. Then she’d gone to Lexa’s to train. “Probably still there,” she muttered out loud to herself, and Wells shot her a curious look but let it pass.

They stepped outside. It was a little cooler today, though the air was still fresh and even just being out of closed confines for a second was enough to have something nameless in her unravel. She seemed to subconsciously take in a scent of the breeze and relaxed in the familiar onslaught of smells.

“Might I ask you something?”

Wells’ voice drew her from her thoughts. She glanced over to him, noticing the oddly serious tone. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wells paused. His eyes were soft. “You seem better,” he said, but his voice was quiet and serious now. “Usually around this time you’re… I’m just a little curious, as a friend of course.”

The corner of her lips tugged up, even if her heart sped up a little in her chest. “Still holding out, huh.”

“I’ll wear you down.”

Clarke shook her head even as her smile faltered. He probably would. That was the worst part, really.

She didn’t offer a response, didn’t really have any idea what to say, but Wells nodded anyway and shrugged. He stepped forward out onto the pavement, adjusted his jacket. “You look better, Clarke. I’m happy is all. Whatever it is… well, hold on to it, is all I suggest.”

Clarke swallowed. She watched as Wells shot her one last parting grin before he turned and started down the street. “Yeah,” she said, even if she knew he couldn’t hear. “I will.”

And that was the worst part too.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her back pocket, glanced at the screen to see it was Caleb. They were meant to be meeting up soon, to continue on the spray work they were doing out near the edge of town, where a construction site for a stack of flats sat stalled after finance issues. Now pretty much abandoned in all but name.

She texted him she’d be on her way, just had to pick up her gear from home first. His reply was instant, _be quick_ , and Clarke rolled her eyes before switching over to her conversation with Lexa. She asked about her jacket and just when Clarke started moving her phone vibrated again, and she saw Lexa had answered she’d look for it once she was back from the precinct.

The clouds gathered overhead as she walked.

-

Even though she already knew it, she doubled checked anyway she was alone before digging her hands in the gaps in the chain-link fence, her foot slipping only once as she pulled herself up and over. Her bag slapped against her back on the jump to the gravel, the spray cans and plastic box rattling inside. She cast one last glance over her shoulder before forcing her feet forward.

Most of the gear and machinery had been moved off the site once word spread of the halt. It was relatively empty of anything really as she snuck through, just a little too attuned to the noise around her, any hints of scents. She straightened once she came in sight of the skeleton of a building.

It was two storeys. The cement walls were mostly set in but scaffolding was everywhere and wooden beams were still visible, especially through the windows. She almost headed in without problem, figuring she’d probably be better off waiting inside for Caleb if he wasn’t already there, but she caught something in the corner of her eye and stilled.

There was a pile of scrap off to the side. Near it was a couple stacks of cardboard boxes, and in one of them, the biggest one with water stain marks and scratches on the side, had a dozing dog curled up within. Clarke felt her stomach drop and it only worsened when she cursed under her breath, the sound making the dog’s head suddenly pop up.

Immediately he was jumping to his paws, growling with his lip pulling back until he took notice of who exactly had stumbled across him. Instantly his demeanour shifted and not a second later he was barking excitedly and scrambling out the box.

Clarke’s eyes widened. “Hey, no, no wait don’t—”

Chip jumped onto her. She stumbled back from the weight his excitement, his paws digging into her chest as he kept incessantly trying to lick her face. She swore again, grimacing and trying to shove him off without hurting him. It worked, eventually, Chip shuffling back onto the ground, but when he made a move as if to jump her again she snarled at him—just a little too animal—and he backed off.

His tail was still swishing so fast she could barely see, constantly shifting on his paws and even circling her a couple times, barking enthusiastically through the entire process.

“No, quiet, _quiet_ , I’m not meant to be in here you stupid fucking canine,” she hissed, but he only shut up when she scowled and finally caved.

She dropped to her knees, reaching out and holding him just behind his ears. He quietened now that she was close to him, instead yipping and attempting to lick at her face again.

Clarke wondered what she’d done to deserve this.

“ _Enough_.” She stressed, putting a hand to his chest and pushing him back, and finally, he seemed to settle. Clarke sighed as she stared him. His tongue was still hanging out. “You are the dumbest dog I’ve ever met.” She said seriously.

He turned his nose into her hand and licked her wrist.

She grimaced, immediately retracting her hand and wiping the slimy feel off her pants. Once he seemed to deem her sufficiently greeted his attention shifted elsewhere, and, to the least of her surprise, of course went to her bag. He padded closer, trying to poke his head over her shoulder and then under her armpit, no doubt locking in to the smell of food.

She never thought she’d ever _regret_ making a steak sandwich, especially considering her current biology, but the insistent dog in her hands was living proof she’d never be able to guess her future.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, getting to her feet and hitching the bag more securely on her back. He stared up at her, whining and pawing at her leg, but Clarke ignored him and stepped back. “I only fed you last time because I was emotionally compromised. You’re not stealing my lunch, _again_.”

He continued whining. She ignored the stupid tight constricting in her chest she felt because of it, instead clenching her teeth and turning around. She held onto the straps of her bag with an almost white-knuckle grip, muttering under her breath with her brow furrowed tight.

“Just keep walking. Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking…”

Clarke closed her eyes.

Goddammit.

She stopped and glanced behind at him. He wasn’t even chasing after her. He just sat there, with a body should have been bigger and fuller and pawing at the air, alone and so forgotten Clarke was starting to believe she might even be the only one who knew of him.

“I hate you,” she sighed, but she trudged back over to him. His ears immediately perked up at the sight of it, and the only thing that Clarke could be relieved over was that at least Raven wasn’t here to insult her.

She slid her bag to the ground. Unzipped it and pulled out the plastic box, and when Chip kept trying to shove his nose in, she kept one arm out to hold him back. She let herself mourn her stolen lunch for just a second before pulling the piece of steak out from between the bread and salad filling. She let him free of her arm then, and almost in the exact same moment Chip lunged forward and snagged the piece of meat.

He pulled it out and onto the ground. Chomped it down with his tail wagging furiously the entire time. Clarke blamed the sheer weight of everything that had gone down these past couple months for when her hand seemed to sneak out of its own choice.

She dug her fingers into the course fur at his neck and stroked through a couple times, unable to not smile just a little when he ate the meat a bit too fast and got gravel dust in his nose, sneezing suddenly. He grumbled something at that before leaning back down and finishing off the last of the steak.

Clarke pulled her arm away and rocked back on her heels. She watched him as he sniffed the ground once the steak was gone like it’d somehow lead him to more. He gave up with a huff, glancing hopefully back up at her.

She offered him a placating scratch behind the ear. “That’s all I got, buddy.”

He went back to sniffing the ground as she packed up the box. Once it was back in her bag she stood up, did her best to valiantly ignore the sudden urge she had to just straight up go to the butcher in town and get him enough beef mince he’d be in heaven.

She shook her head at him, pretended it wasn’t fond, and hoisted her bag on her bag with a rattle of metal cans before moving to head into the building. Except she hadn’t even made it a couple steps until there was something grabbing her leg and pulling her back. She jerked to a stop, just stopping herself from tripping over at the abrupt weight, but when her gaze snapped behind her she saw it was Chip.

He had his teeth dug in her pant leg, somehow both growling and whining at the same time as he tried to tug her back. Clarke swore and tried to shake him off, but he was oddly persistent and it wasn’t long until she was properly pissed.

She ripped leg back, too fast to not dislodge his grip off. “The hell’s up with you?” she snapped, but he was still making those sounds at her.

Her scowl was shifting into a frown at the behaviour, but her head whipped around when she heard a voice call out.

It was Caleb. He was jogging, slowing as he approached from where he’d come from inside the building. “Clarke! You’re here,” he grinned, though his expression soon grew confused as well when he saw Chip. “Is that a dog?”

Chip was snarling now. His hackles rose up on his back, his eyes stuck on Caleb and growling so feral Clarke found herself tensing and her wolf shift anxiously within her. She glanced to Caleb only to see him raise a brow and laugh. “Dogs,” he said, shaking his head, clearing looking to her for agreement.

There was something off in the way he said it. Something a little too cold. Her eyes narrowed, but when he came forward and gave a snarl of his own, savage and violent, Chip attempted one last tug at her pant leg before turning his tail and bolting.

Clarke watched him run. The tension didn’t leave, somehow actually seemed knot _tighter_ , uncomfortable and cold in her gut.

Caleb was already turning around like nothing interesting had happened. “Sorry about that. You know how dogs are like with us, though I’m surprised it even got this close.” He frowned at her from over his shoulder. “You’d think it’d have picked up your scent from the last time you were here and steered clear.”

Clarke blinked. Oh. She didn’t tell him, but considering it was _that_ particular dog, her scent had probably had the opposite affect. Her chest constricted again at thinking that it’d probably smelt her from when they’d been here days ago and had most likely waited out in the hopes she’d return.

“You coming?” he called, when she hadn’t immediately moved after him.

“Yeah,” she said, but still her eyes flicked out a last time to where Chip had run. Maybe he did have an ounce of self-preservation in him. “Yeah. I’m coming. Oh and hey, did I leave my jacket from that time we were here?”

Caleb frowned. “The one you got spray stains on?”

Clarke rolled as her eyes as she came forward. “The one _you_ got stains on.”

He just grinned at her, sharp like it always was. “Well, _whoever_ did so, no. You left with it.”

She nodded as she stepped in through the doorway. Caleb drifted in behind her, but even as they went to the usual spot upstairs, dumping her bag down and opening it up; her eyes caught on the Tupperware box, now just bread and salad scraps, and that cold feeling came back in her gut and spread like ice water down her spine.

-

The house was empty when Lexa got back.

It wasn’t too surprising. Lincoln and Ryder were gone to go inform Tristan’s and Quint’s parents what had happened. They weren’t to reveal they’d died by a mutt’s hand, as while her own pack seemed to be reassured in her, it was still a dangerously thin line and she didn’t want word breaking out.

Indra, Echo and Gustus were out tying any loose ends, finance or otherwise, and the rest only left Nyko, who worked partly in the hospital here, and Anya. It was strange, the house being so empty, but she’d only be here briefly to get Clarke’s jacket and then she’d get back to the precinct. Pike was hovering over them today, eyes constantly stuck in a suspicious glare and always muttering about their lack of progress.

She might have jumped on the opportunity to escape for a breath of fresh air a little too quick. The longer she stayed in Pike’s presence the more she was clenching her jaw and tempting with the idea of longer, sharper teeth. It... probably wasn’t the best idea to leave _Anya_ of all people alone with him, but Lexa trusted she wouldn’t do anything rash in public eye.

All bets were off if she was left in a room alone with him though.

Clarke’s jacket wasn’t on any of the hooks. Lexa frowned, searched through the living room to see if it’d been thrown over any of the couches or chairs. Lexa had noticed that while at the start Clarke might have been stiff and on edge, she’d been coming to this house so often she was beginning treat it more like a second home.

Lexa always shot her an exasperated look when Clarke would just throw her jacket on the nearest available surface, but it never seemed to deter her. Probably only motivated her more.

She had almost given up and decided maybe she’d try outside, already knowing how unlikely it was to be there, when she caught something blue in the corner of her eye and stilled. Lexa slowly stepped back, pressed one knee onto the couch and leant over until she was peeking down the back of it.

There.

“Of course,” Lexa muttered, sighing, but she reached down anyway and got a grip on it. She’d just pulled it out and was ready to text to Clarke when she noticed something different on the inside of the jacket.

Lexa stared.

She slowly stood up. Laid the jacket on the couch, spreading it out so the inside was exposed and almost flat across the sofa. Her hand came out, and carefully, as something cold slid into her stomach, she traced the red stain. It reminded her of something else. She recognised it, an alarming feeling crawling from the back of her head to the front.

She ran out and shoved her way out the back door. Her heart was speeding up now, as she hurriedly dug in her pockets for her key ring and jammed in the lock to the cellar doors, throwing them open and almost tripping in her haste down the stairs.

She already knew. She knew she did. But she needed to _know_ , to be absolute, because if she was right then everything was very quickly about to go to hell. By the time the bookcase door was finally open enough she was almost bouncing on her feet, slipping in the second she was able and rushing to over the shelves of books and boxes.

The second she got it she was sprinting for the back in the house, the evidence clutched white-knuckled in her grip, and her heart was pulsing in her ears and her breathing was already trying to spiral. But everything all stopped dead still when she got back into the living room and laid the jacket down, next to Clarke’s, spread it out and knelt onto the floor.

She glanced between them, running her fingers over the matching stains. The _matching_ stains. Same spray-paint. Same colour. Same spread. But it didn’t make _sense_ , because wouldn’t Clarke be dead already? And why would it be the same, _how_ could she have gotten them without meeting him?

Panic hit her first. And it wasn’t anything pathetic, it was that real, terrified _panic_ that she’d only ever felt once before. The type to consume absolutely everything, every thought and every reaction and her hands were already sweating when her hand jerked to her pockets and she ripped out her phone.

The ringing only doubled the searing fear sprawling across her chest. It felt like an eternity when it reached and she heard Clarke’s voice.

“Hey,” Clarke said, and she could almost hear her smile. “Did you find it?”

“Tell me where you are.”

There was a pause, Clarke’s confusion obvious. “What?”

“Are you alone?” Lexa rushed out, voice sharper now, already turning around and heading for the door. She would find where Clarke is and bring her back. They could deal with it from there on.

Clarke hesitated, and it made Lexa stop dead still.

“Clarke,” Lexa said, slowly, and she swallowed through the dryness in her throat as the panic came back but a thousand times worst. “ _Are you alone?_ ”

“Lexa…”

“Tell me where you are, _now_. I’m coming to get you.”

“What? No, Lexa, what—”

“Just stay on the line and—”

And then she heard it. Another voice, further away, but just _hearing_ it had the hairs at the neck prickling as her entire body flushed with cold. “It’s alright, let me to talk to her,” he said, and her eyes were already widening because he was _right fucking there_.

She could almost hear Clarke’s frown. “But I thought…”

“I want to, Clarke. I’m ready.”

“Clarke,” Lexa hissed, but she could already make out the sound of microphone scuffing as she presumably handed the phone over. “Clarke, _don’t_ he’s—”

“Commander,” Cage purred, and Lexa’s lip automatically curled up in response. “It’s been forever, no?”

“You so as much touch her and I’ll skin you alive,” Lexa snarled, something furious and burning in her chest but Cage just laughed, and she _recognised_ it, that was the worst, sick part. The same cold, smug, caustic laugh. Like he truly believed the world was obligated to bend to his every whim.

“Now, why would I ever want to hurt her? She’s my _friend_.”

“She is _nothing_ to you—”

“No?” Cage interrupted, and it was obvious he was grinning. “And is she something to you?”

Lexa threw her jacket off with one hand. She rushed out past the fountain, and she could already feel it, the rise of her wolf under her skin. “Tell me where you are, and perhaps I’ll consider a quick death.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Lexa bared her teeth. “ _Cage_.” She snapped, but he just hummed, amused.

“You’re a little late it seems, Commander. As you always seem to be. You have nothing to fear though, of course, if I wanted her dead, I would have already had _many_ opportunities to do so.”

She could barely hear anything over the slamming of her heart. “I’ll find you,” she growled, and it was _savage_ , her lip peeling back further into a sneer. “And you will regret ever meeting me.”

Cage just chuckled again. “I’m sure you will. Well, unfortunately, it seems I have to go. I believe I owe an explanation or two to my friend.” Lexa opened her mouth, not even sure what she’d say, but he was already continuing. “History never seems to stray far from the present, does it?”

And with that last comment the line went dead.

Lexa threw her phone to the ground. If she was thinking, she probably would have called someone to at least get word out but she _wasn’t_ thinking. Those last words were just the final nail to the coffin and she knew the fastest way would be to shift and find Clarke’s scent—because she always walked, Lexa had noticed that about her. She barely drove.

That paralysing fear overwhelmed absolutely everything until she was shredding her clothes and she fell onto the ground on all fours, sprinting and a snarl that was somehow both terrified and furious ripping out of her throat.

She ran the fastest than she’d ever gone because she knew any second and Clarke was dead.

-

Clarke slowly stepped further and further back the longer the conversation went on.

And it should have been obvious. It felt so with hindsight. But the easiest way to deceive was always to divert attention, and with everything that happened, what with Lexa and Tristan and Quint—she’d almost forgotten really. Sure, it’d been a looming threat. It’d always hung over her like a sword held up by a string, but she thought she’d have more _time_. They both had.

“Now,” Cage murmured— _Cage_. The Cage. He turned around, only paused a moment to take in fact she had backed away, could probably hear her pounding heart. He smiled. “I believe you’ll want your phone back?”

He held it out but Clarke didn’t move an inch. He tilted his head.

“No? You’re sure?”

Clarke’s eyes dropped to it.

“Come on,” he enticed, his grin spreading wide and sharp. “Why would I ever hurt a friend?”

Clarke swallowed. She didn’t move, and Cage let the tense moment push on another beat before sighing, shaking his head.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t offer you.” He slipped it into his pocket. Clarke felt her gut hollow out.

Shit. _Shit._ It was a struggle to keep her breathing even, and she quickly took stock of the only partially assembled wide space, the wall off to that side that was still only thin wood, leading into another room while the buildings outer walls were hard with cement. And the only exit to downstairs being far behind Cage.

Unless she jumped the window behind her. For a second her gaze flitted to it, and Cage must have noticed because at his laugh her eyes snapped back.

“I’m not here to kill you, Clarke. It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? I just want to talk.”

“You want Wanheda,” Clarke muttered, and she had to restrain the urge to reach to inside her jacket. She still had the knife there, the one she’d been carrying now, its weight heavy and obnoxious at her side. He hadn’t noticed it yet, or at least she was hoping.

Cage shrugged, taking a casual step forward that had Clarke immediately backing away. “I won’t deny that, but you know how the legend goes, don’t you? You’ve spent enough time with the Trikru.”

She didn’t say anything, but he must have read the answer on her face anyway.

He gave her a satisfied smile. “Exactly. If I wanted you dead, don’t you think I would have done so by now?”

Clarke glanced to the window again. She could make it, right? She’d probably break a few bones in the fall though. The chance of making it _and_ then being to able run after without shifting was…

“So why haven’t you?”

She wasn’t going to make the window. Her safest bet was to keep him talking, distract him enough so she could lead him away, make a break for the stairs. She eyed him closely, watched him for any sign of movement as she slowly started to walk back, almost like they were circling.

But Cage didn’t move. He lost his smile, and instead something far more serious and terrifying took its place. “Tell me, do you really have any idea what you are? What you could do?”

Clarke kept moving in the infuriating slow pace, feeling her skin crawl like ants burrowing underneath with the way Cage’s eyes never shifted from her. “It’s a spirit,” she mumbled, only half-listening. If this devolved into a fight her odds were grim. Getting out was the best choice.

“So you do know the legend. But the better question I suppose, is do you believe it?”

Clarke paused at that. Something sick crawled into her stomach, when she saw his lips twitch up because of it.

He held her stare. “You’re smart, Clarke. The packs, the Trikru, it’s always legends with them. Leave it unexplained, because why question it, no? It’s a spirit, fell from the heavens.”

Clarke stared at him.

“Have you never been curious? In all these years, of being what you are, of what they’ve told you. Have you really never thought to question?”

“What the hell are you doing, Cage?” Clarke snapped, and while her lip peeled back, Cage didn’t seem at all intimidated. “You’ve been lying to me for—”

“A necessity, unfortunately.” He cut off, and Clarke stopped moving entirely, a cold laugh bursting out of her.

“Yeah? And what could that possibly be?”

“I didn’t know if the Commander had gotten to you already.”

He said so simply, like it was obvious and most the logical thing. Her hand twitched again with the urge to reach for the blade.

There was something in the way he said Lexa’s title. It spoke of history, and not a pleasant one.

“I only lied about my identity as a precaution, everything else, that was real. I’m still your friend—”

“Stop saying that,” Clarke snarled, and this time she gathered a reaction. But it was the opposite of anything she’d been expecting, as the slip of the animal sound only seemed to make him _excited_. “Jesus, Cage, I know what you’ve done. You killed your _own people_ just for personal gain, and yeah, you _should_ have taken that precaution. Because if I had known who you are I would have killed you then.”

Cage smiled. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

Clarke stared incredulously at him. “You’re a _psychopath,_ you’ve slaughtered who knows how many, why the hell wouldn’t I—”

“What I did was never for me.” Cage interrupted, and his voice was sharper now, enough that Clarke swallowed and backed a step. “I only did what had to be done. Our people have been killed off for _centuries_ by humans, all I did was realise the advantage we didn’t know we had. Those savage packs hide everything behind legends and stories but they never were.”

“It’s only science,” he went on, and he spread out his arms, laughed and shook his head. “It was only ever science. The lives lost, it was never in vain, just to kill or whatever the Commander has told you, it was for _us_. For our kind.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke said slowly.

He grinned, and she couldn’t help but feel like she was getting tangled further and further into the web. He looked at her like he knew it too. “I made our kind stronger. It used to be that only Bloodlust wolves could have that strength, but they _don’t_ , and I proved that. It’s only a gene, you know. Epigenetic programming, you manipulate it just right, and there. Nothing more.”

A slow creeping dread started crawling up her spine. She felt like she knew where this was going, and it was _beyond_ bad, and her pulse only thudded harder under her skin.

“She never told you, has she? Just how many wolves we lose in the refusal of change. The humans have been picking us off since wolves were born. This is meant to be _our_ land, _our_ homes, and yet _they_ are the only ones allowed to freely walk the ground without fear.”

“What do you want?” Clarke said again, but it came out a whisper.

“All I’ve wanted,” and he stepped forward slow, now just a few metres off. Clarke stiffened, but she didn’t move. “Is to save my people. I just want your help, Clarke.”

“You want me dead.” She retorted, but he only smirked, smug and full of teeth.

“Have I ever laid harm to you? And, from what I hear, your Commander cannot say the same. Truly Clarke, what loyalty do you _really_ owe to them? Her hands are equally as bloody as what you make mine to be. You’ve told me what she did. Trapping you, making you turn. You truly believe she’d ever offer you into the pack? She sees you as a _mutt_ , as do her own. You would never be anything to them.” He stepped back then, gesturing with his arms out again. “But me? I don’t care whether you’re bitten or born. All I want is to change. We can have _change_ , we can _be_ change.”

“The pack have nothing to do with this,” Clarke snapped, and Cage just arched a brow.

“I’m only pointing out what you seem to struggle to admit. I want your help, Clarke. That’s all I ever wanted. Clearly, the pack have already told you about me. I’m just suggesting, with what respect they’ve given you, who do you truly want to help?”

When Clarke didn’t have an immediate retort his smirk spread wider. He chanced another step forward, but Clarke only eyed him.

“I hear your friend settled in quick.” He murmured, tilting his head. “The one who was bit by them. Supposedly by accident. Doesn’t it piss you off at all? You’ve fought tooth and claw just to not be spat on for daring to infringe on their presence, and yet the _second_ it’s their own blood—It’s open arms.”

“Where are you going with this?” Clarke muttered.

“I’ve escaped and survived the packs my entire life. They outnumber me and my people, and yet…” his gaze sharpened, and unease flooded when she realised she _recognised_ it, had seen it so many times before but always wrote it off. “The Bloodlust, that’s in all of us. And while, yes, some were lost in the name for it, it _worked_. Now the _packs_ fear _me_. I’m just taking the helm of our own change, our evolution. But with you…”

Clarke slowly stepped back, because she knew it. She already did.

He came forward anyway. “Just think, Clarke. It’s only the legends that say there ever has to be one.”

“Cage,” Clarke breathed, as the enormity of what he was suggesting settled in, but he was getting _excited_ now, his eyes wide and consumed.

“Help me. Come back to my territory with me. You’ve adjusted, you know it how works, have had it for so much longer.” He offered what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile. “I know you hate how alone you are, Clarke. It’s not the same, with the others. They don’t hold the weight like you do. Don’t you want more? You don’t have to be alone in this, not anymore. We can control it, we can—”

Clarke hissed through her teeth. “Do you even hear yourself? It _can’t_ be controlled. Its only wants is to kill and slaughter,” she growled, but the refrain wasn’t as strong as it used to be. “And it doesn’t fucking matter how much control you think you have it means _nothing_.”

“That’s what I thought too!” Cage said, bursting forward in his excitement. Clarke backed away, and at her bared teeth he hesitated, taking just one step back. His excited grin didn’t waver. “When I first met you, that’s what I feared. That it really couldn’t. But you’ve proved it now, you’ve shown it _can_ be done.”

Clarke frowned. “No, I—”

“You shifted in a room, _alone_ with the Commander, and didn’t kill her.”

Clarke felt her blood run cold.

“That’s not—”

“And then again, with your friend. Raven. You shifted, and never laid harm to her.”

She couldn’t breathe. “ _No_. That’s different, that’s—”

Cage just laughed. “Is it? You’ve been learning control, Clarke. It would have had every reason to kill them, but the only reason it didn’t, is because _you_ didn’t want it to and it _listened_.”

“You don’t understand,” Clarke snarled, and finally he broke into a snarl too, his patience clearly thinning.

“No, _you_ don’t understand. I just want to help, for our _people_ , our kind.” He raised his chin then, gave an almost sincere smile before offering out his hand, his eyes never moving from her. “I only ever lied to you because of the pack. I never would have if it wasn’t for them. Help me, please.”

Clarke stared at his hand.

His smile faltered. “Clarke. I’ve never hurt you. I’m your friend, here.”

“You’re a murderer.” Clarke muttered.

But he only gestured with his other hand at her. “And what are you?”

It was a deliberate jab, she knew that, but it still didn’t stop the stab of pain in her chest. He seemed to realise he’d pushed too far, because his mouth was already halfway open before Clarke cut him off.

“No.” She said, and it felt like the room dropped in temperature. “No. What you’re trying to do, it’ll only bring more death.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is this because of the pack? Because of what they said about me? Because you trust _them_?”

Clarke pulled in a careful breath. “Cage—”

“You don’t owe them anything, Clarke! How many times do I have to say it? They have treated you like the shit stain on their shoe for _existing_ , what possible loyalty could you owe them? There is absolutely nothing that…”

Her racing heart only worsened as his words trailed off, and slowly Cage’s hand fell as the realisation came across him.

“Oh,” he murmured, and that sharp, sharp smile came back. “No, I see. It’s not _the_ _pack_ you’re loyal to, is it?”

Clarke swallowed. He shook his head, a laugh breaking out of him that was somehow disbelieving and full of such cold pity.

“Clarke, come on. Let’s be serious here. She will, well, for lack of a better term, throw you to the wolves the second it suits her people. She will _always_ put them first—never you. Whatever trust you think you have with her, it’ll never be anything but circumstantial.”

“It’s not about her.” Clarke snapped, ignoring the stupid, desperate pound of her heart. “You’re wrong, Cage.” His smile fell away. “The only thing you want is war and bloodshed. You never figured it out,” she added, as she stepped back, her hand drifting to her side. “The bloodlust never left you. You only got better at hiding it.”

He stared at her. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Your first one was ever thinking you had a chance.”

His jaw clenched. “Well,” he said, and he started stepping back, his obvious disappointment and annoyance being replaced with that fake, smug grin of his. “I do want you to know, Clarke, that I never wanted it to come this.” He moved towards the wall, grey and thick with cement. His hands wrapped around a pipe there, running up it. “But, as they say. When in Rome.”

Clarke flinched when he suddenly kicked at the pipe. It jerked forward, tearing off, and Cage wrapped both hands on it before finally ripping it clean into one piece.

He tested the weight in his hands. “You have no idea how long I spent tracking it. You’ve really got no clue, do you? Of what it was before, where it was kept hidden even from the _packs_. Only smart thing they did, probably.”

He turned to her. Clarke’s eyes flicked out to over his shoulder. She wasn’t getting to the exit without having to get past him.

“I spent _years_. I had to follow the _tiniest_ of traces, I put absolutely _everything_ into finding it, I hit dead end after dead end. Running in circles and wasting my life on something barely even dreamed about. And you want to know where it led me? Just _what_ I fucking found?”

He slammed the pipe into the wall. The violent _clang_ made her jump, but more terrifying was the snarl on his face, the fury there that was so manic it was almost like he was frothing at the mouth.

“One group. _One_ pack that had kept it within them for over a century. A century! They even had their own fucking _ceremony_ , where they passed it between them, generations upon generations where they told no one, _no one_ of the power they held. Who were they to ever fucking think they had the right to hide something like that?”

It had been running. When she had hit it, three years ago. It had been _running_. It’d been sprinting so desperately it hadn’t even checked, hadn’t bothered to care for anything else other than distance—because it should have, right? Even if they were in car, it should have _heard_ them, even in the rain. Something that ancient and bred to be most efficient of killers, it should have sensed it, in some way. Leapt from the cars path.

“What did you do?” Clarke whispered, but Cage just scoffed, his grip so white-knuckled she heard the metal actually creak and bend under the pressure.

“If I had known they’d taken their ‘ _duty_ ’ so sacredly…” he shook his head, his lip pulling back in utter disgust. “They tried to slow us down, _me_ down. It meant nothing, obviously. They’d been hiding and living off the land in their pretty little fucking woods for too long. They were nothing.”

Nausea rolled so thick in her gut she struggled to speak, taking an almost staggered step back. “You slaughtered them?” she breathed. Cage did that cold laugh again and started approaching her, spinning the pipe in his grip.

“I shifted and chased it for days. _Days_. Nonstop. By the time I got to it I was starving, my stomach gnawing at itself, I could barely even see. And so you can imagine my surprise when instead of finding it alive, I find nothing— _nothing_ —but its dead, rotting corpse.”

Her head was spinning too fast with the onslaught of information. He kept getting closer, the furious snarl still trapped in his lips.

“Three years it took. Three _fucking_ years. So, you can excuse me if my patience is a little thin.”

And that was the only warning she had before he finally struck forward.

She had been waiting though. The second she saw him tense she was already moving too, jumping from his path and swerving out the trajectory of the pipe. Clarke spun around the moment she could to get eyes back on him, and she watched while breathing hard through her teeth as Cage frowned.

He put a hand to his stomach, where now there was a rip in his shirt, a shallow red slice in his skin.

“Should have accounted for retaliation,” Clarke muttered, and his eyes fell to the knife in her hand. It only sickened her when he just smiled and shook his head.

“You know what they say about bringing a knife to a fight.”

The next time he came at her she wasn’t quick enough.

He was _fast_. Seriously fast, even for a werewolf. The pipe was more a grey blur than anything and she cursed when it slipped under her vision and slammed into her side. Pain jolted into her ribs but she only bared her teeth, pushing onto him aggressive and without even pausing to react.

She only got scarce few shots in before he was on her and she barely fended him off. It was a fleeting thought, especially when he smashed the pipe into the inside of her elbow. The shock of pain was enough to disarm her and he _snarled_ at her, kicked her in the chest when she tried to recover. Her back hit the wall and instantly he was in front of her, the pipe now digging into her throat as his face hovered just inches from her, spit flying off his exposed teeth.

Lexa had been right. Even just taking one day off in training had been a mistake.

“Come on,” he hissed, pushing the pipe further. Clarke tried to shove him off but he was stronger than _Tristan_ even. “It doesn’t have to go like this.”

She couldn’t breathe. Her wrists were pinned behind it and she couldn’t _push_ or find any weakness in his grip—

Well, there was one weakness.

She choked a strangled breath and kneed him square in the groin. He staggered back with a shout and Clarke wrapped her hand around the pipe and shoved it forward, hitting him hard enough in the face there was a _crack_ and blood spluttered out his nose. She ripped the pipe from his grip, dodged a blind swing and swung the pipe for his knee.

He caught it. Their eyes met for this terrifying moment and she could _see_ it, that total, all-encompassing fury. She wasn’t living this. Whatever time she’d borrowed with him, it was far past run through.

She head-butted him. Spun around and bolted for the door, ignoring his enraged snarl from behind her and just _running_. She’d almost made the length of the floor and had just lunged for handle when a body collided into hers. She wasn’t even given a second to react before a fist connected with her face, then another, hands suddenly grasping her shirt and ripping her up.

“You want to play dirty?” Cage panted, and he kicked her in the stomach, sending her staggering back and only just keeping herself upright. When he got close enough to swing at her she caught it, elbowing him in the jaw while he retaliated with a _hard_ punch in the gut.

It blew all the air from her and she keeled over, but he grabbed the back of her jacket, and she felt something sharp pierce her from his nails. It was only the warning she had before his entire body tensed, snarling savage in her ear right as he threw her off to the side.

She smashed through the drywall. She wrecked through a wooden beam too, and she could only roll over the debris, her entire body aching with pain while her head throbbed violently. She hissed through her teeth, trying to slip her hands under her to push her up, but almost as quick was the sound of fragile wood fragments cracking under Cage’s boots.

He slammed his foot to her head before she could move. Soon another strike found its way to ribs and she _groaned_ , curling inwards as her head swam in the pain, too overridden in agony that even _thinking_ of moving it made it throb.

Her only grace was nothing else followed. She tried to force her eyes open, the room tilting over as she looked up to see Cage with his back turned. He was walking away from her for some reason, instead moving further into the barely assembled room.

He knelt down and grabbed something. There was the sound of plastic clacking, the repeated slap like threads of rope, but everything was still so _hazy_ it took her until he was turned around and coming back towards her before she realised.

He reached into his pocket with his free hand, the other gripping tight to a plug end, while the extension cord slid out trailing behind him. He pulled out her phone, pressing in digits with one hand before bringing it up to his ear, and he was _grinning_ at her, like he’d never been happier.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

Her eyes widened, and right as she tried to reach out to stop it he kicked her in her already tender ribs. He held the phone down to her as she grunted, cursed and spat out blood.

“Better be quick if I were you,” Cage murmured, still smiling almost ear to ear, and without letting the operator reply ended the call and let the phone slip limp from his grip.

“Why?” Clarke panted, her brow furrowed as she glanced between him and the phone. Her brain wasn’t so sluggish anymore and so when he drew out the cord enough to make a loop, she lurched back, desperately scrambling to her feet.

The world swayed, her stomach rolled with it and she only managed to fend off the flurry of his blows for a handful few of seconds before he wrapped the cord around her wrist, spun her and pulled it so hard her shoulder almost dislocated.

She hissed, about to try rip her hand out when out of nowhere it was free. But almost as sudden was the extension cord now wrapped around her throat. Cage dragged her back as he jerked it tight enough it dug into her skin, the rubber almost feeling like it was burning and soon choking any remaining air out of her.

“Why?” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. “Easy. In some ways your Commander is thought of terrifying, but in others, she is rather predictable.”

He wrenched the cord around her neck tighter. She frantically tried to get air in, but it was too _tight_ and her lungs burned and fluttered on nothing.

“Remind me Clarke, it’s a _wolf_ the police are still searching for, no?”

Clarke ignored the flare of panic in her chest. Everything was blurring, but she hastily scanned her surroundings for just _something_. Anything that could be used as a weapon or a distraction, her hands were free, even if she was frantically trying to get her fingers under the cord to tear it off, all she needed was a fucking—

Her gaze stilled on the remains of the beam she’d crashed through before. She followed it with her eyes, and glanced up to see scaffolding there, but it was _leaning_ , disappearing behind her.

 _Behind_.

She slammed her foot back into his knee. He grunted into her ear, but his grip didn’t slacken enough to break through. But his stance had. He was off-balance a precious second, and she snarled deep and guttural in her throat before she _pushed_ them both backwards.

He broke through the other beam. They both hit the floor, as he obviously hadn’t expected the weight behind him to _break_ , but in the same second was an ominous metal screech and tear from above. She was still coughing at the sudden exposure to air again, but she dove out the moment she was free. She wasn’t expecting it, when she actually felt a _push_ from behind, and they both came just rolling out of the collapse.

Clarke didn’t stop moving. The second she dove out she staggered up onto her feet, leaping through the hole in the wall he’d thrown her through. She _ran_ and snatched the pipe off the ground, right as a hand snared the back of jacket. When he tried to rip her back she instead spun and blindly swung for him, and his arm snapped up in supernatural reflex alone when it went for his head.

It still was enough contact to his face slapping the side. Blood hit the concrete floor and he dodged the next strike, nothing but a blur as he sent the pipe flying out her hands—trading blows that left her sides and ribs and knees pulsing with incessant pain, adrenaline the only thing keeping it at bay.

She swung for him, but he grabbed her arm and _pulled_ , flipping her over his back. She hit the stone floor and swore at the throb of pain in her back again, yet he was already dropping onto her and raising his fist. It probably would have made it contact too, except a crash sounded downstairs, an animal snarl that had Clarke’s heart clenching immediately in recognition.

Cage must have recognised it too. He paused, for just a second, but it was enough and Clarke lurched up, dislodging him off her and landing a hard enough kick to the chest he flew back. She lunged for the pipe again, bursting up to her feet only to turn around and see Cage had gone for a weapon too.

He held her father’s hunting knife in his hand.

Cage grinned at her, throwing a brief glance over his shoulder to the door. “I believe our guest has finally arrived.”

The snarl from downstairs sounded off again. The panic came back, searing across her chest because it was exactly what Cage wanted. He still stood between her and escape, and just as he started approaching her the door slammed open with a _bang_ and a massive brown wolf burst into the room. The moment Lexa was in, she kicked the door back shut with front legs, got her teeth around the knob and ripped it clean off.

In the heartbeat after, their eyes met. It was just a second where Lexa’s gaze flicked over to her, to the obvious struggle and pain she’d been through and that was cause enough.

Lexa lunged for him. She fell on top of him but Cage bared his teeth, dug his hands into her fur and they rolled together; Lexa trying to snap her teeth into his throat as he shoved onto her back, his hand holding her bottom jaw and pinning her down as he raised the knife and—

Clarke jumped onto his back. She brought the pipe in front of his neck and violently jerked it back, snarling furious into his ear as she ripped him backwards— _away—_ while Lexa almost instantly flipped back onto her paws. Clarke didn’t have him in the choke hold for long until he elbowed her in the stomach, got his hands on the pipe and _pushed_.

It ripped from her grasp, and he jammed the end of the pipe into her ribs, hard enough she flew back and there was a _snap_ and she was sure one of them had fractured.

Blinding pain rocketed through her chest as Lexa snapped her jaws around his ankle before he could react, growling feral as she violently yanked him off his feet. She dragged him as far as she could from Clarke till he slammed his boot into her muzzle, ripping the fangs from his flesh and stumbling back up so he was standing. Lexa _snarled_ , blood now dripping off her teeth and looking the stuff of nightmares, and Cage scrambled back in genuine fear.

His eyes flicked back to Clarke.

It was the only warning before he dove back in a blur of movement. Lexa did too, pouncing out after him with her teeth flashing but Cage got to Clarke first. He roughly wrenched her forward and spun her, bringing the knife up to her throat and trapping her with his arm.

There was a sick irony in the idea she might die by her own father’s knife.

“One move,” he breathed, tightening his hold when Clarke tried to break free. “And I’ll slit her throat.”

The knife pushed harder into her neck, enough she felt the cold sting, and with her flinch Lexa’s growl somehow became louder. She snapped her jaws viciously, but though her hackles were raised and there was salvia slipping from her fangs—she didn’t approach.

“He’s bluffing,” Clarke hissed, making deliberate eye contact with Lexa. It didn’t matter that she didn’t truly believe the statement—he absolutely wanted her dead, there was no doubt on that—but he was far too big a threat to risk it like this.

Lexa’s eyes jumped between her and Cage. It was obvious she was gauging whether it would be worth it, and though her lip curled higher and a savage snarl ripped out her, she made no move.

Cage had the nerve to laugh.

“Really Commander? Come on, you’ve done it once before. What’s another mate dead?”

Clarke’s struggling slowed. She blinked, her eyes searching out to Lexa’s—because Cage couldn’t possibly be implying what she thought he was. She was hoping to find something relieving there, but Lexa actually stepped back, her snarl faltered off until they were left in oppressive silence.

Lexa wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Clarke frowned, even as something threatened to break inside. Cage blew out a stunned breath that brushed across her ear. “Oh, you didn’t tell her, did you?” He murmured, and he sounded almost _thrilled_. “All that time, and you never thought to mention.”

Whatever it was, it was obviously something painful. It reminded Clarke of back in forest, with Lexa quietly admitting who she’d lost, and Clarke grit her teeth and tried to break out again because she _didn’t_ want to know. Not here, not like this.

Cage thought differently. “You truly don’t know, Clarke? Of what she’s done? I suppose I’m not surprised, considering, well, if you knew, you probably wouldn’t be so quick to trust her so surely now, would you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Clarke snapped, but Cage just chuckled again, no doubt smirking across to Lexa.

“Has she told you of her love?” he whispered to her, and she recoiled, trying to move her head away from where he now spoke directly into her ear. His hot breath made her want to throw up. “Costia her name was, no? Beautiful girl. Loved the sun, long walks on the beach, could sing like an angel—”

Lexa’s harsh snarl sent him stumbling back. Clarke staggered with him, the blade almost nicking her throat.

But Cage soon regained his composure. “Oh yes, she loved the Commander more than anything. Such a cruel pity then I suppose, that it was the _Commander_ who was the one to put the bullet between her eyes.”

Clarke froze, and she was sure Cage felt it, was the reason his grin spread so wide near her ear.

“Put down like a poor, poor sick dog,” he murmured, mock sincerity in his tone. “Is that _truly_ who you wish to align yourself with, Clarke?”

Lexa finally met her eyes, then. She did nothing but stare, not even a hint of an animal growl there because she was admitting something here, offered nothing in denial. It was the truth coming out the wrong person’s mouth.

Clarke swallowed. She nodded to her, even if it made her press into the blade.

She was far too gone to turn back now. Clarke could admit that, at least. Lexa blinked at her, like she’d truly been expecting otherwise, and it was only another moment before Lexa drew herself up again. Her growl ripped out into the room once more, and she heard Cage hiss from behind her as he jerked them back a step.

“She will be your death sentence.” Cage snarled to Clarke, and Lexa gave a responding one, when outside there was the frenzied grind of tires on gravel, a snarling engine and sirens blasting in a deafening pitch.

Lexa’s ears flicked, her head leaning up. Clarke’s breathing sped up at the sound of doors opening and shutting, the chatter of stressed yet firm voices.

“Oh, would you look at that. The cavalry has arrived.”

Lexa’s lip pulled back further, and it was disturbing how she could almost _hear_ Cage smile into her ear.

“I suppose we should announce our presence, no?”

He roughly pulled her back. She ended being almost dragged on her feet, slipping and trying to keep a grip as Lexa moved with him, probably just seconds from pouncing forward and the only thing stopping her being just how close that knife was to Clarke’s throat.

He stopped once he got to the wall, a window in the middle of it. Clarke’s eyes immediately sought out the door to downstairs though, how it was so _close_ now, if she could just break free, she could sprint the gap and get out.

She was snapped back attention when Cage grabbed one of her wrists, jerked her hand out and the knife left her throat a fraction of a second. Just long enough so he could slice open her palm. Clarke hissed at the unexpected pain, Lexa let out a dangerously terrifying snarl but Cage just held tighter to her wrist, ripped it out and slapped it into the window palm first.

He forced it to slide across, leaving a jerky bloody streak across the glass.

There was immediate shouting outside. Cage briefly moved forward into the view of the window, leaning his shoulder into the glass so he still had a clear eye on Lexa, but able to show off the hostage he held with him.

“I see _one_ twitch of movement, and she’s dead," he shouted, ripping them back out of sight the second the words were flung out his mouth. “Now,” he breathed, focusing back on Lexa. “I believe you’ve got a choice, Commander.”

Clarke’s brow furrowed. There was the sound of shouting outside, a megaphone soon crackling to life and ordering Cage to come out, but they all ignored them. She didn’t know what his play was here. He was trapped now, wasn’t he? And by his own design.

Lexa seemed to be swept with the same unease as her. They met gazes, and when Lexa’s eyes shifted out, just for a second, out to the door like in signal to ready for it, Clarke nodded again.

“You’re done for, Cage,” Clarke growled, but Cage just did that same horrible, razor-edged laugh.

“Not quite,” he murmured, and she felt his arm shift from around her front. “Your choice is simple, Commander. Revenge or love?”

And the next moment the knife was suddenly off her throat and plunging into her shoulder.

It would have had a chance at being bearable, except it was also almost _exactly_ where Raven had shot her. Where the silverly scar still lived, and the explosion of pain was only so much worse because of the already damaged flesh. She had elbowed him though, in the movement, and the blade only got half the length in before being ripped out.

The white-hot burst of agony _tore_ through what felt like her entire body and she didn’t even know what happened; she was pretty sure that some shocked and agonised scream ripped out her throat, how one second she was up and standing and the next she was shoved to the cold floor; desperately clutching where the blood was slipping through her fingers.

A gunshot went off through the window. There were the sounds of panicked yelling, the siren still wailing, Lexa’s absolutely _furious_ snarls and Cage’s smug laughter. Clarke cursed, crawling on her hands and knees as she still held where the pain was tearing into her from. She glanced up and saw Lexa rolling with Cage again, the knife knocked out of his hands, eventually landing on top of him and bursting forward.

Cage’s hands shot up. It was his insane strength alone Clarke was sure, that kept Lexa’s ferocious snapping jaws just inches from his face and not clamped around his neck. He pushed her back at her chest, had just tried to reach for her muzzle when her teeth snapped around and caught his wrist.

He _yelled_ and Lexa bit down harder, shaking her head violently like she was trying to honestly rip his hand off, growling feral the entire time until Cage used the grip she had on him against her. He snarled vicious too and roughly flung his arm out to the side, and Lexa’s teeth lodged deep into his flesh meant she was forced to move with it. She flew off to the side, tumbling before she immediately scrambled back up onto her paws to go for him again.

Clarke tried to stand up, but the pain jolted through her and she shouted at the unexpected intensity of it. She collapsed back onto ground, as more and more blood slid out between her fingers with terrifying speed, and both Lexa and Cage’s attention snapped to her.

There was the sound of a door breaking downstairs.

“I’m fine,” Clarke panted, trying to assure Lexa, but she spat blood out her mouth, and considering the fact she could barely move she figured it was only a matter of time, really.

Cage rushed back to his feet and stumbled back. He still held his mauled wrist, tripping over his own steps as he backed away. But instead of lunging for him, Lexa hesitated, her eyes still on Clarke.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Clarke snarled, but Lexa still _wasn’t_ moving, and the realisation only hit Cage a second later.

Cage backed up until he hit the wall, but his gaze flicked between the two of them and grinned wide as he settled back on Lexa. The door into the room jolted forward, warning shouts behind it, and Cage only watched as Lexa finally ran over to Clarke.

“So predictable,” Cage muttered, and then smashed his elbow through the window that Clarke had been eyeing before, right back at the start. The door jumped forward again, clearly seconds from bursting open, yet Cage just winked, and jumped through the window.

“Go after him!” Clarke hissed, but Lexa ignored her, trying to press her paw to the wound before realising there was no point. She pulled back and her eyes squeezed in what Clarke _knew_ was the precursor to Lexa shifting back, but Clarke hissed through her teeth. “ _No_ , the police will break in any moment and shoot you dead. You can’t—”

There was the sound of wood splintering. Lexa’s eyes snapped open, and they both looked to each other in panic.

“Hide,” Clarke breathed, the first thought to hit. “Hide, shit, just fucking _hide_.”

Lexa hesitated, especially when Clarke blinked slowly, as everything blurred for a terrifying second.

But Clarke shoved her with free hand, ignoring the explosion of pain that made her groan harshly. “Hide right fucking now or I’ll never trust you again, do you understand?”

It was enough, finally. Lexa stumbled back, but she growled something that almost came out a whine before spinning around and bolting into the room Cage had thrown her into before.

The door blew open. Two men instantly came rushing through, guns raised and eyes rapidly scanning the scene before them. The taller one saw Clarke first, his eyes widening but before they could run forward Clarke was already yelling.

“That way, he went _that_ way, out on the ground—”

“Kane, stay with her,” the other man ordered, two other cops rushing into the room as the taller one, Kane, nodded and hurried over to her.

“Get the med team! The civilian is wounded!” Kane shouted over his shoulder, kneeling by her and immediately shucking his jacket off, pressing it to the bleeding wound near the joint of her shoulder. “You’re going to alright,” he assured, but Clarke just anxiously watched on as the other cop went to window, glanced down with a curse before sprinting back out the room with the others trailing behind him.

The only thing Clarke cared for was they hadn’t checked the room Lexa hid in.

Everything felt too slow. She finally brought her gaze to Kane, tried to take him in but the pain and blood loss was too distracting. She made out dark hair, brown eyes that—that _widened_ , when they met sights, recognition in them.

“ _Shit._ ” He whispered, hissing under her breath, and before Clarke could frown more people burst into the room.

Medics. With a stretcher.

“No,” she breathed, but it came out slurred and no one heard. Kane shouted for them to be faster, still pushing desperately against Clarke’s shoulder as they rushed to her and started urgently saying things that she couldn’t make it out.

When they reached for her she tried to get away. She attempted to push up to her feet in instinct but agony instantly shot through her and the entire world swayed to the point she almost blacked out. It didn’t make sense, how in a pained blur she felt herself being picked up and moved—but it was distant, it was getting _bad_ now and it took too long for the panic to even kick in.

There was an ambulance outside. When she finally got control of herself again she was already being carried over to it, and immediately she tried to roll or leap or just fucking _something_ off the stretcher.

Kane was still beside her, somehow. His hand shot out the second she started moving and held her down. “ _Don’t_ Clarke,” he warned, looking strangely upset. “They’re taking you to a hospital, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

Confusion was the only thing that kept her from shoving his arm off. “How—how do you know my name?” she asked, just barely, and the only response she got was a wide-eyed stare and dropped jaw, as without warning she was suddenly being pulled into the ambulance.

The bright lights made her flinch and snap shut her eyes. There was a shock of pain again when they moved her onto the gurney, drawing out a groan and a flurry of movement, hands, fluttering over her and then pushing hard on the wound. The ambulance doors slammed shut with a confirming yell from one of the paramedics, soon followed by the screech of tires and the vehicle roughly jolting forward.

Clarke forced her eyes open. She took in the female paramedic above her, older and stone-faced, her gaze constantly jumping over Clarke, along with her hands as she muttered a constant stream of words under her breath. Clarke only caught some of it, something about veins, arteries, _relief_ and then panic and harder pressure on her shoulder.

It was another paramedic pressing a thick white rag onto the wound. “You’re going to be alright, ma’am,” he assured, but he was younger than his partner, more Clarke’s age. She could see the fear in his eyes as he breathlessly kept on assuring, asking her questions on what happened, who she was, while Clarke could do nothing but stare.

Hospital. They were taking her to a hospital. A _human_ hospital with people, where they’d run test and diagnostics, get her _blood_ and her biology and—

She tried to burst up. The male paramedic swore, rushing to push her back down but she was already immediately collapsing back, the agony rippling through her and rendering her practically immobile. She realised she was sweating, her hair was almost matted now, the lights and ambulance roof above her nothing but a blurry mess.

The pressure at her shoulder left. It was replaced with fingers probing into the stab wound, pushing something _into_ it, every deeper prod making her hiss and swear because _fuck_ did that hurt. They were attempting to the stop the bleeding she was pretty sure, and her eyes flicked to the side, saw the other paramedic put something in a syringe when _it_ hit without warning.

A snap of bone ripped through the enclosed space and Clarke screamed, her back arching as pain ruptured down it spine, pain she _knew_.

She collapsed back onto the gurney panting. Shit. _Shit._ She was going to turn, she was going to turn right in this fucking ambulance.

“What the hell was that?” the female paramedic snapped, but there was shock and worry that had burst through the previously stoic exterior. Her eyes jerked up to the other paramedic and he hurriedly shook his head.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Allen—”

“It _wasn’t_ , Perez! I don’t know!”

“You need—you need to let me go,” Clarke panted, and their attention immediately went back to her. The hands pressed into her wound again.

Perez ignored her, adjusting the syringe once more, but Clarke bared her teeth as a snarl too animal ripped out her throat. She lurched up, and this time she managed it, her blood rushing with something else now that though it burned it gave _strength_. Allen’s hands shot out to keep her down, but he wasn’t enough to hold her and Clarke’s hard shove of just one hand was enough power to send him staggering back.

He hit the wall of ambulance. The vehicle swerved in a result, the driver yelling a curse as the paramedics both looked to each other with wide eyes. Clarke tried to throw her legs off the gurney, slip off so she could get out before it all _really_ went to shit but even half delirious on pain and blood loss she knew that was a bad plan on its own.

She hadn’t even swung both legs before Allen burst forward and shoved her back down. Perez snatched one of her arms and slammed it onto the gurney bed, hurriedly strapped restraints on it. Clarke’s eyes snapped to hers, her lip pulling back, but Allen used her distraction to restrain her other wrist down.

She jerked her arms up, trying to tear it off, but trying to move her arm with so much power made her shoulder _burn_. She cried out, falling back into the bed as something wet slipped down skin again. It only spurred an immediate hand back on wound, pressing hard and sure, but that hurt _worse_ , and it wasn’t even a few seconds later that her ribs flashed with pain like someone was trying to pull the bone back with their hands.

A yell broke out her throat, a crack of bone somewhere inside. Her heels dug into the thin bed and she struggled against her restraints as the paramedics tried to push her back down. They were shouting again. Their hands flitting over her body as they tried to find the cause of pain, kept asking her again and again where was it, what was happening, what could they do—and Clarke just growled, the sound far too low.

“Let me go,” she breathed, when it subsided enough to speak again. A brief memory came, of Lexa from before, when she’d been trying to convince her to shift so she could lie on her. That if the injury was bad enough, the wolf would break out, force the healing process itself in a last ditched attempt of survival. She swore and tried to catch Perez’s eyes. “Please,” she begged, and she watched as Perez swallowed. “It’s—it’s not safe, people will die—”

“Keep her still,” Perez cut off, reaching for the syringe. Allen nodded as Clarke felt something furious wash over her, and she tried to rip out her hand again. Allen’s own hands held her down once more and she _hated_ it, felt her teeth actually crack and change. “I said still!” Perez hissed, and it took Allen pushing down his entire weight on her arm just to even get close to achieving that.

Clarke watched panting as it finally pricked her skin and slid under. Her wolf rose again, but she thought of every one of those infuriating minutes that Lexa had forced her through in that meditation. It _pushed_ relentless under her skin like it was the full moon, like nothing could ever stop it.

But it wasn’t the full moon. It’d been days ago yes, but it had _passed_. It was finished. This wasn’t yelling and screaming against the inevitable. It was a goddamn power struggle.

Her eyes squeezed shut, but even in the violence of it, she ran her tongue over her teeth and found them blunt.

There were drawbacks though. Her wolf was forced back, but so went the healing that’d been trying to take over. It was surreal, how immediately the pain resurfaced a thousand times worse and her shoulder—her fucking _shoulder_ —she couldn’t even move.

Her wolf thrashed against her again, almost as stubborn in its resolve as her. It overwhelmed too quick, a flare of white-hot agony down her spine until she kept pulling and pulling and _pulling_ at the restraints until it finally ripped off. The paramedics jumped back in shock, but Clarke saw nothing as she hurriedly flipped over onto front. She groaned loud, blood soon streaming down her arm from her shoulder as she just barely held herself up.

It was like trying to resist the violent thrash of a riptide. There were hands on her shoulders, trying to pull her down and onto her back again when there was a violent metal _bang_ and the ambulance lurched forward.

The force of it sent the paramedics stumbling and Allen even fell to the floor. Clarke would have gone tumbling too, but her hands were desperately clenching the gurney so tight she was actually pretty sure her nails were already partway shifted.

“What the hell was that?” Perez hissed, stumbling forward and trying to push her down again.

There was cursing from the driver, and Clarke just barely glanced up, blinking through the sweat on her eyelashes. She made out the driver glance at the side mirror, only to quickly to do a double take and actually stick his head out the window for a second.

The ambulance jolted forward again with another vicious shove. It was coming from behind, and right as Perez grit her teeth and was about to snap again the driver breathlessly cut her off.

“It’s a wolf,” he breathed, throwing a bewildered glance back at them. “It’s a _wolf_.”

Allen scrambled to his feet and lunged for the backdoors. He shoved his face into the window, eyes widely scanning through before he paled and staggered back. His head snapped around, met Perez’s eyes, able to nothing but stare with a dropped jaw.

“He’s right,” Allen whispered, but soon after they took too a sharp a turn and he lunged to hold onto something.

Clarke’s grip wasn’t enough this time. She hit the metal flooring and cried out, pain slashing through her shoulder so intense she almost blacked out. Felt the entire world sway and bend, her arms too weak to hold her up now.

“Help her!” Perez shouted and in the same instance there were hands grabbing her and flipping her over. Clarke swore again, forced her eyes open and saw Allen breathing fast above her, shot her the briefest of smiles as he pushed hard on the wound.

“You’re going to be okay,” he assured once more, but Clarke shook her head.

She was panting erratically now, the lights and sounds and figures all blurring above her. “I can’t—I can’t hold it,” she breathed, and Allen frowned right as the worst wave yet slammed into her.

She screamed. Finally there was the sick _crunch_ and her back arched as her spine roughly jerked up. She almost thought she heard panicked barking, a ripping snarl that she’d heard only less than an hour before. It didn’t make sense, especially not when she tried to roll onto her front again, spat out a mouthful of blood as it stabbed vicious in her stomach and she _yelled_.

When Allen tried to stop her she wasn’t thinking.

All she felt was her fumbling grip on reality. One minute her wolf was brutally rushing through her and the next she was _snarling_ at feeling someone trying to stop her. Her hands shot up and roughly grabbed Allen’s shoulders, flipped them over so _she_ was on top of him, her teeth bared and bloody as her eyes finally burned yellow.

He froze under her. She growled at him, savage and feral but before she could make a move there was another _bang_ that resulted in the doors to the ambulance slamming open, the force of it enough to dislodged them again. He shoved her off him, but when he scrambled back up, stared terrified down at her as she grunted and only just about managed to glance up at him.

Her eyes were blue.

He blinked, but Clarke’s attention immediately fell to behind him at the sound of an animal growl.

Lexa was sprinting right there behind them. It only struck then that that was what the noise had been before—Lexa must have honestly been throwing herself at the ambulance, shoving all her weight onto it. Probably the only reason she could keep up was the constant disruptions that was throwing off the ambulance’s speed, _just_ enough so she could make the distance.

“What the fuck is going on!”

Clarke ignored Allen’s shout and focused only on Lexa. She barked again, clearly trying to convey something and lacking the ability to speak. But Clarke glanced to the now flapping open doors and Lexa’s constant urging and realised what she was wanting her to do with all the breath getting knocked out of her.

It was absolutely insane, but what other option did she have? She either jumped and _hopefully_ landed on Lexa enough to break the fall so she didn’t just die instantly, or she stayed, where the transformation would tear through her here or at the hospital and it’d be a bloodbath both ways. And probably expose werewolves in the process.

It wasn’t really a choice.

Perez must have been watching her. The moment Clarke burst up to her feet the paramedic was shoving the gurney to the side and rushing forward. She grabbed her just before Clarke could do it, pushing her into the wall but it _hurt_ and at the pained groan instantly jerked back.

“Get her on the gurney!” she snapped, just as the driver yelled back what the _hell_ was going on back there, but when Perez tried to pull her Clarke resisted.

Clarke managed to shove her off just as another burst of agony hit. She cried out and fell to her knees, and she heard Lexa again, shakily looked up and saw her there sprinting so fast her legs were a blur.

To fucking hell with it, her chances of survival were abysmal either way, so what did it matter?

Perez was still pulling herself up from the floor when Clarke tensed. Allen had backed away, too terrified to near her, not even with Perez snapping at him to goddamn move.

“Slow down!” Perez screeched right at the top of her lungs, the driver cursing back his confusion as her and Perez met her eyes. She seemed to see the intent there, and Clarke held her breath and prayed that if she _did_ die, she hoped it’d be quick, and scrambled forward. “ _Shit_. Allen, grab her she’s going to fucking—”

Clarke jumped.

Lexa lunged forward too. They collided into each other and they were sent violently rolling, smashing and tumbling against the cold hard tarmac and then there was a sick _snap_ —an overwhelming vicious stab from somewhere inside her.

When momentum finally felt forgiving she couldn’t even move. Her entire body _ached_ with pain and she was pretty sure she’d broken her leg, torn worse at her shoulder with a fresh feel of warm blood spitting out. And there was that sharp sting near her lungs, a snapped rib, probably, just a dislodge away from spearing the organ internally.

Maybe jumping from a speeding ambulance hadn’t been the grandest of plans.

She’d survived though, so that was something.

Her eyes blinked open, weakly managed to turn her head, heard tires screech but the ambulance took a sudden turn and the sounds faded. She just caught a flashing glimpse of Perez standing inside it there, holding up against the frame of the doors while she cursed and cursed.

It wasn’t seconds later there were incessant whines that went off right by her. A wet nose pressed into her neck, nudging her as she kept making those scared, scared sounds, the ones that made Clarke’s chest get tight even without being strained and broken.

Gentle teeth dug into her shoulder. The _non-_ torn open one, but Clarke still groaned when Lexa started dragging her back off the road. She let out a choked whine directly next to her ear that felt like an apology. The tarmac was rough on her skin, kept nipping and bitting at her till it finally switched out to dirt, then grass, and suddenly the sky wasn’t of clouds but leaves.

She was carefully let back down. Lexa backed away and Clarke closed her eyes, the tree canopies above her spinning on their own and making her nauseas. She heard the crack and snaps of bone, the disturbing sounds of shifting until it was a very _human_ grunt ringing through.

Shaking hands were on her face then, pushed briefly against her neck, tilting her head to the side till Clarke’s eyes fluttered open and it was Lexa there. Her eyes were wide and wet, but Clarke, for a reason she couldn’t name, found herself letting out a breathless laugh that turned into a racking cough with blood splattering onto the dirt.

It was a little ironic, really. How Lexa was just about as pale as her but didn’t have a scratch on her.

Figures the first time she’d see Lexa properly naked she’d be dying.

“Hey, hey, look at me, _look at me_ Clarke.”

Clarke tried to. That stabbing pain got worse near her lungs and even her out of time breathing was slowing like it knew how’d this end. She blinked a few times, trying to rid the blur of Lexa’s face above her. Her hand was still on Clarke’s cheek, warm and trembling, and it was nice in the worst kind of way.

“You need to turn,” Lexa whispered, more desperate than anything Clarke had met.

Clarke managed a weak smile. Everything still felt too slow. “You always say that,” she mumbled, and Lexa smiled a little as well, but it was in the worst way too.

“You need to, _now_ or you’ll—”

But even if Lexa had drawn her out off the road and into the woods sitting next to it, they were still far too close. Because roads led to the town, which led to civilisation, people, and then they’d be right back where she started in her fear. There’d be a bloodbath. Lexa had said that when Lincoln had shifted after being severely injured he’d had to wrestle back for control.

And so in Clarke’s circumstance it’d be probably be a thousand times worse.

Like Finn again.

Lexa must have seen the answer written on her face. Clarke wanted to say sorry, but that didn’t feel so fair.

“Too close,” Clarke breathed, and Lexa paled even more, somehow. Completely stilled.

“Clarke you’ll—you have to, it doesn’t matter, you won’t—”

“Can’t risk,” Clarke pushed out, ignoring how worse it hurt to speak. It came out slurred.

Lexa ducked her head and swore harshly, baring her teeth as her eyes snapped back to her. “You will _die_ , do you understand? It doesn’t matter, just let your wolf heal you, it will buy us time and—and I’ll keep you from people, you don’t have to worry, okay? Trust me, please.”

Clarke smiled slightly again, and though it pulled painful at all the minor and not so minor cuts on her arm she raised it. She touched Lexa’s cheek, where Lexa immediately brought one of her hands up and held it. “You’re really pretty, you know,” Clarke murmured, both surprised and not when Lexa blinked furiously at her.

“Clarke,” Lexa breathed and—yeah, there really wasn’t nothing better than that sound. It settled easy under her ribs and even her weak pulse thrummed something peaceful with it. Lexa probably had no idea the effect she had. Clarke never thought there’d ever be a truly _right_ way to say her name, but on Lexa’s tongue it always sounded holy with things she didn’t think she deserved.

Her wolf wasn’t so accepting. It tore through her, relentless and beyond desperate and Clarke grit her exposed teeth, her eyes spitting gold as it _pushed_ within her and she jerked up.

But Clarke shoved it back, thought of the door, of the forest, and slowly, the yellow melted back into blue.

Lexa stared down at her, her mouth open as the brief flash of hope and relief ripped away. “The _one_ time you listen me.” She shook her head, but she glanced to the ground and Clarke saw the little glistening bead on her cheek she was pretty sure not even a god had the right to witness.

“Sorry,” Clarke mumbled. Nothing about this was fair anyway. “Sorry.”

And because she’d always been good at running in circles, she smiled just one last time in that worst kind of way just for her.

-

Clarke’s eyes starting drifting shut but Lexa shook her so she wouldn’t.

It worked, just barely. She kept tight pressure on Clarke’s shoulder but she could goddamn _feel_ the blood leaking out from underneath, slippery and merciless under her fingers. Her shirt was pretty much completely soaked through now, torn and ripped from the fall and _shit_ there was so much and it was everywhere and she was so slow and—

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Lexa snarled, but the sound was pathetic in her throat.

“Says you,” Clarke slurred again, and her skin was so, so cold now, clammy and wet as she eyed her lazily.

There was a passing rush of hope once more when Clarke’s eyes slammed shut and she cursed, her body jerking rough and violent and vicious but it ended like before. It came and swept over and it left. It was what made her realise. Clarke wouldn’t let it, not here. She’d rather her own self die than take down a slaughtering of innocents if it meant her own survival.

Lexa came to a decision.

The ambulance would be back any minute now. There was no way she could let her back on there, because sure, they might be able to keep her alive long enough to get into surgery but they’d pump her full of sedatives to keep her unconscious—and while _Clarke_ would fall under it, her wolf won’t. It’d take advantage and it’d shift as are its instinct and then, well, they’d probably all go stumbling into a new age of war.

But she wasn’t letting her die here. Her own heart had bled and died enough.

Lexa still kept the furious pressure on the wound as she forced in a deep breath through the mouth. Then she closed her eyes, prayed she could get it to sound close enough, threw her head back and _howled_.

And it wasn’t right, not really. It was a call for a wolf’s throat, not a human’s but it was _close_ and it would be fucking enough. It was loud and blaring and it didn’t matter, how it wasn’t quite right, because the call for home was something you always knew no matter what you were.

She glanced down and saw Clarke’s eyes were slipping shut again. Lexa dared to let one hand off and press her fingers to Clarke’s neck, and though the pulse was terrifyingly weak and rapid it was _there_. She tried to wake her up again, but this time Clarke didn’t respond.

But someone else did.

It was a long, echoing howl, distant from being so far away yet Lexa’s head snapped around, her eyes wildly flicking about as she tried to pinpoint which direction it’d come from. She heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle, the yell of sirens, and Lexa only slipped her arms under Clarke’s legs and back and the second she had a sure enough grip she _ran_.

It was beyond difficult. Soon she was gritting her teeth and sweating, every so often having to stop and pause—gently lay Clarke down, then rip out her own howl against that tore at her throat—and she’d chase off to wherever the responding called echoed. She sprinted relentless through the woods, and yet even in the chaos of it heard nothing but Clarke’s stuttered pulse.

She had Clarke’s arm thrown around her shoulder, kept feeling Clarke’s head knock against as her collarbone as she sprinted but at points, even unconscious, she’d feel Clarke lean in. Her cold nose would nudge into Lexa’s neck and she’d breathe in and she’d linger there before falling back limp again.

It made Lexa feel like her chest was cracking open.

And it just about was when she finally made it. There was sweat streaming down on her eye lashes and making her blink rapidly, but something like her entire pathetic soul collapsed in on itself in _relief_ when she stumbled on out of the woods that led to the manor.

She didn’t fall to her knees, even if at this point she couldn’t even feel them.

Anya was there pacing near the back door. It was obvious she’d just thrown some clothes on, as Lexa had started recognising the trees five minutes ago, didn’t send up as a call as there was no need.

The moment she came out the trees Anya’s gaze snapped to hers and her eyes widened, rushing towards to her but stopping dead at Lexa’s yelling.

“Open the cellar doors, now!”

Anya didn’t hesitate. She just nodded and bolted for them, didn’t even try look for a key but just grabbed the lock on the chains and _yanked_.

She ripped them off and jerked open the doors in time for Lexa to rush through and nearly trip down them. She grunted, her arms long numb and buzzing at this point. Anya seemed to understand what was needed without being told. She sped past her and thrust the book down so the geared bookcase could roll open.

“You’re going to be okay,” Lexa whispered to her, kept repeating under her breath like saying it enough had any call over fate. Clarke was lifeless in her arms and her chest _lurched_ so bad she almost threw up.

But Anya burst forward and kicked open the door the second it was wide enough. Lexa shoved her way in and yelled for her to open the other door, Anya already there, unquestioning as she lunged for the metal wheel and spun it open in rough jerk. She pulled it back and Lexa went through.

She immediately laid Clarke down. She tried to shake her shoulder, to make her wake up, but Clarke was as unconscious as before and Lexa even heard her pulse _miss_ a beat.

Lexa burst to her feet and out the room. She pushed past Anya, dove for the desk and ripped a drawer open, snatched what she needed and scrambled back into the room. She slid to her knees, pulled the bottom of Clarke’s shirt back just enough to reveal a slip of skin.

Lexa gripped tight to the silver dagger in her hand.

“Forgive me,” she breathed, then pressed the edge of the blade into Clarke’s skin and _pulled_.

Clarke burst up with an agonised snarl. Lexa had already ripped the blade away the second she’d ever seen Clarke twitch, threw it out forgotten behind her and hurriedly reached out to calm her. Clarke’s teeth were bared and she was still snarling like an animal but it was blind—Lexa kept one hand on Clarke’s chest pushing back so she wouldn’t just rip her throat out without thinking—but Lexa was already speaking, her words tripping breathlessly over themselves.

“It’s me, it’s _me_ , you’re fine, it’s gone. It’s _gone_ , Clarke, it’s done.”

Clarke blinked slowly at her, and though she still seemed out of it her lip relaxed and she stopped growling.

“Look where you are,” Lexa said, still keeping one hand holding the neck of her shirt. “There’s no one, _no one_ here. You’re safe.”

Clarke tore her eyes off her, glanced around the room rushed and frenzied. But she slowed, Lexa saw the realisation spread over her face and this time the hope the swooped up in her chest wasn’t immediately snuffed out.

“Turn,” Lexa begged, and Clarke looked to her again, eyes jumping over her like she was trying to discern what was real.

And then her eyes rolled back.

She flipped onto her front and instantly there was a _crunch_ and her spine burst up. It tore straight through her shirt, drawing a pained groan from Clarke, her arms shaking almost as violent as the change that tore through her. She spat out a mouthful of blood, then _screamed_ when her ribcage started expanding and spreading out. It was wrong though, sputtered out jerky instead of smooth because it had to _grow_ and rearrange new bone, replace and fix the old one.

It was messy. Fur didn’t spread seamless but scattered in patches, her wolf attempting to do too many things at once, to _heal_ and to change when already they hovered so close to oblivion it was like trying to pull yourself back when gravity already had its hooks into you.

The entire thing was bloody and brutal, and the moment it was finished and it was a hulking wolfish creature staggering into existence, it was only standing on its new legs a second before it was collapsing.

Anya grabbed her arm when she tried to rush forward. Her head snapped around, her lip already curling up and a snarl in her throat when Anya only growled back at her. “She’s _severely_ injured and vulnerable and will attack anything that comes near her, don’t fucking—”

Lexa tore her arm free and went to her anyway.

She dropped to her knees just in front of her, gently grabbed that massive head and brought into lap, kept muttering and muttering because she had _done_ it, she couldn’t die, not with so little said and done and with them _barely_ back at—

Clarke’s eyes blinked open, and she was met with the sight of bright yellow.

Lexa laughed breathlessly, unable to stop the wide relieved smile. “Hey,” she whispered, feeling such overwhelming warmth in her chest it almost burned. Those eyes blinked slowly at her and there was a deep, guttural grunt, her snout weakly pushing forward until her wet nose was pressing into Lexa’s palm. Lexa breathed out trembling as her eyes fell shut and her head hung, her back curling over until she had her forehead pressed down to the fur between her ears.

The soft but weak rumble that started making itself known moments later made Lexa smile, even as something wet spilled onto her cheeks.

-

At some point Clarke regained some of her strength.

When she started haltingly getting herself up on all fours Lexa felt hands wrap around her elbow and pull her back. She tried to resist, but it was weak—she was beyond exhausted now that threat of death wasn’t so imminent—and so Anya tugged her out the room and shut the door without much trouble.

Lexa glanced down at her hands. They were still soaked in Clarke’s blood, and for a second everything swayed, her stomach rolled and rolled with memories of a different time, a different death.

“Lex, hey, look at me.”

Lexa did. The feeling didn’t leave though, and Anya seemed to realise, a worried furrow to her brow.

“You should shower, get yourself—”

“No.” Lexa shut down the idea immediately. Anya raised a brow, but Lexa scowled and stepped back. “No, I can’t… I’ve got to say near. In case.”

Anya sighed. She glanced out to the metal door, eyed it for a strangely intense beat until she shook her head. “Fine. Stay here, I’ll be back. Then we’re talking about whatever fuck just happened.”

Lexa didn’t watch her leave, her gaze still stuck on the door. It was quiet, just a little too much, her gut dropped and she burst forward and slammed her fist against the metal. The _bang_ was almost harsh enough to make her flinch, but she only desperately pressed her ear into the cold metal with her heart thumping in her throat.

A howl rang out, and Lexa’s entire body flooded with relief.

She stepped away. Anya was probably right, that being trapped alone in a room with a wounded predator treaded dangerously close to suicidal, but it didn’t stop the stupid pound of her heart and the fact she was convinced Clarke was going to drop dead any second.

Shifting wouldn’t heal her completely, only give her time. She needed to get Nyko, the pack, find out what happened with Cage, if they found him or lost him, if he’d attacked and killed any officers on the way and that wasn’t even _beginning_ to consider how the hell she was meant to cover that Clarke leapt from a speeding ambulance and _survived_ and—

“Jesus, I leave you alone for a minute,” Anya hissed, and Lexa’s head jerked around just to meet Anya’s glare. It was different than it usually was though, faltered in the wrong spots and soon it shifted into something far more uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and held out a bowl of water she had in her hand. “Come on, if you’re so married to being an idiot.”

Lexa sighed through clenched teeth, but she took the offering. Anya lent her a cloth too, and it wasn’t long after she started wiping the blood from her with the warm water that the unease came crashing back. She swallowed, tried to ignore how familiar it was beginning to feel, when it hadn’t been her hands she’d been cleaning but her face.

She hadn’t realised her hands were shaking bad till Anya’s were suddenly on hers. Her eyes snapped up, but Anya wasn’t looking at her. She took the wet cloth from Lexa’s hands and went to cleaning the skin herself. Lexa’s eyes closed. She focused on her breathing.

“Come on,” Anya murmured when she was finished, picked the pile of clothes off the desk she’d brought down with her too. “Since apparently we’re making camp here.”

Lexa ignored the jibe and just nodded. It was just hoodie and sweatpants. She pulled them on slowly. Clarke got too quiet again, but as if she’d picked up on Lexa’s train of thought a snarl echoed out, more confused and pained than anything. She’d probably realised she was back in a cage again.

“So.”

Lexa glanced to Anya. She had her arms crossed, and her face was grave now, cautious and maybe even just the slightest bit afraid.

“What the fuck was that?”

Lexa sighed. Her gaze fell to her hands, and though they were still wet from the water they felt wet with something else. “Cage has been in contact with Clarke.”

It was a downward spiral from there.

She relayed the events mechanically, listed them off; of finding the jacket then the phone call then the _fight_. She didn’t mention the way Clarke crumpled. How the screams sounded, how it felt like a spear jutting through her stomach, how like a hairpin trigger she’d seen red and had lunged and his blood on her teeth had tasted like satisfaction.

Anya’s expression only worsened. She went on to the ambulance, having to break it open and get Clarke out. Anya’s hissed eyes widened and she cursed.

“That’s going to be absolute _hell_ to explain, right? You know that?”

Lexa glared. “Obviously. But what other choice was there?”

Anya laughed, but it was cold and grating. “They’re going to come questioning. Look, I get it, we clearly can’t let her go to a hospital. But that means they _are_ going to come here, because we’re going to have to explain how the fuck she jumped an ambulance— _lived_ —and then ended on our doorstep sleeping it off.”

“And we’ll deal with it.” Lexa finished, just a little too sharp. Anya frowned at her.

There was a tense silence, in which Anya wouldn’t stop staring at her, and Lexa had a sinking feeling in her gut that she knew where this was leading. And it was absolutely not what she wanted to address. She had to get on to contacting Nyko, first of all. She didn’t have her phone, was probably still discarded out on the front pavement if Anya hadn’t picked it up already.

But Anya cut in before she could start.

“Why didn’t you call?”

Lexa ground her teeth. She was silent for long enough Anya’s features shifted from concerned into pissed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It sure as hell does. We could have avoided this.”

She flinched internally, because she was right, even if it stung deep in her soul. She forced in a steadying breath, and she wasn’t sure if it was effects of all the adrenaline of the past events rushing out of her or exhaustion or _something_ , but she glanced out to the metal door.

“There was no time,” she muttered, swallowing the wet lump in her throat. “He was—he was right with her. It would have taken too long, to track her cell or wait for the pack to get back so we could search—”

“Don’t bullshit me.” Anya snapped, and Lexa’s eyes jerked to hers, her nostrils flaring.

“I’m not _bullshitting_. You don’t—”

“Think it through then, how about you think it just a _little_ fucking through. We could have found her fine _with_ backup and avoided this whole goddamn clusterfuck if you hadn’t of ran in with _nothing_ and hoped for the fucking best.”

Lexa burst forward, her lip peeling back even if Anya stood her ground and didn’t move an inch. “Watch it,” she snarled, the sound grinding deep and furious in her chest.

Anya scoffed, ignored the warning and only glared harder. “Then be fucking honest with me. What the hell were you thinking? Seriously?”

“He was with her.”

“So? How does that—”

“Because he was _right_ fucking there, just like—”

Lexa snapped her jaw shut before anything worse could escape. Anya knew her too well though. She seemed to finish off the sentence on her own, but seeing the realisation wave over her only made Lexa bristle and step back.

“Go call Nyko. Get him here. We’re done talking.”

“No.”

Lexa stilled. “Excuse me?”

Anya just raised her brow, her arms still crossed. “No. You’re not doing your isolated bullshit this time.”

“The hell does that mean?” Lexa snapped, her lip curling back as she came forward. Anya shot her a flat look.

“You know exactly what it means. Because you have just compared two very, very different situations. Unless, of course, you assume one thing.”

“Get out.”

Anya ground her teeth.

Lexa pulled herself up, stalked forward as she bared her teeth. “Get the fuck out, _now_. I am your alpha.”

It seemed to prove the final straw. A snarl ripped out of Anya’s throat and she burst towards her. Lexa wasn’t quick enough, too weighed down with exhaustion, and they stumbled back as Anya grabbed her by the shirt and tore her forward. Lexa snarled at the invasion of space, tried to shove her off but Anya resisted.

“Don’t fucking order me around like I’m your own fucking servant,” Anya growled through her teeth, and though there was something hot and burning in her eyes it went out just as quickly, Anya’s shoulders deflating as she softened. “We’re family.” She whispered, blinking a few times. “Act like it.”

Lexa swallowed. She shoved her off her, Anya not fighting it this time, only staggered back those steps as they stared at each other in a painfully tense silence. That feeling in her chest got worse, an old and familiar grief that festered under her ribs like it always did. And she didn’t want to goddamn admit its existence, but Anya was right, as much as it pained.

It was just her, really. She had the pack, sure, she had Indra and Gustus and the rest of them, but Anya was who she’d grown with from the start. At this point, even if they weren’t related by blood, they might as well have been engraved into each other’s bones.

The fire drained out of her. She supposed it’d only been a matter of time.

“He called me.” Lexa said, but her voice barely rose above a whisper now. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t just that I was too late, but I _heard_ it, the entire thing. He was with her. Talked his every action as he did. I wasted time, to trace it, gather the pack, get people, so I could rush him, so I could…”

Lexa closed her eyes. The memory played for the thousandth time over behind her eyelids.

“I should never have waited. I think I could have reached him in time if I hadn’t of. And now, when he… when he called, he was with her and it was—it was exactly like that fucking night. He told me history never strays far from the present and hung up.” Lexa forced a stuttered breath as she tilted her head back, blinked away that stupid goddamn heat in her eyes. “What was I meant to think? What was I meant to do? I don’t know. I didn’t think. I couldn’t.”

She didn’t know how long the silence lasted. When she finally looked to Anya again, she saw her eyes were wet too, had her jaw clenched so tight her teeth were probably going to break. They held stares, and slowly Anya tore her gaze off, ran her hands over her face as she turned away.

“She’s your mate, isn’t she?”

Lexa looked to the metal door.

Anya turned around. Approached her again, but it was softer this time, no aggression left. “Lex, come on.”

Lexa didn’t answer. She was silent long enough that Anya seemed to give up on looking for one, eventually caved with a scoff and started to head for the door back to outside—yet she stopped, the second Lexa finally fought through the struggle in her throat.

“I may be hers, but she is not mine.”

Anya blinked at her. “Lexa,” she breathed, her voice filled with _something_ Lexa didn’t have near enough energy to unpack. Instead she ground her teeth and nodded stiffly.

“Now get Nyko, the shifting will only give us time. Get him back here immediately. I’ll call for the rest of the pack.”

Anya hesitated, looking like they’d just started a conversation, not ended one. But she bobbed her head anyway, even if she was sighing sharply through her nose in frustration. Lexa waited until she was alone again, then she moved back to the door and pressed her ear against it.

She listened to Clarke’s strained breathing, and closed her eyes.

-

For a moment, she thought she died and went to hell.

It felt like it at least. It was searing pain that she woke into, and it was searing pain she got lost into. She didn’t think that a turning could _worse_ but then she’d done it on the brink of death, and, yeah, there absolutely could be worse. A lot goddamn fucking worse. When her conscience had been ripped back she’d actually been _relieved_.

There was blissful nothing. Then, it all came back again and she was yelling and screaming until she violently stumbled back into existence, collapsing back onto the cold stone floor naked and covered in blood and sweat. The evidence so far that she _had_ died and gone to hell was pretty high then. Her wolf could only do so much, and it’d probably come to the point she’d waited too long. This was probably just a gap in the torture.

But then there was a heavy grunt of metal, that massive door jarring open and Lexa coming through.

So this wasn’t hell then.

Clarke tried to get up, but nothing happened and she ended lying there. Something wet leaked out her shoulder again. Lexa seemed to have expected it though, only rushed to her and threw a blanket over her. Clarke wanted to say something snarky about how werewolves weren’t exactly new to nudity, as Lexa always seemed to remind her, but all she managed in doing was staring up at her.

She didn’t know what to say. How the hell do you thank someone for legitimately bringing you back from the brink of death?

“You brought me here,” Clarke muttered, and Lexa lingered by her. Kneeled down beside.

“I did.” Lexa said, but her eyes were still scanning over her like she was asserting to herself she had in fact survived.

Clarke blinked slowly. She was pretty sure she could sleep till the next century and then some. “You’re wearing clothes.”

Lexa’s brow creased even as her lips twitched up. “I am.”

Damn.

“How do you feel?”

“Hungry,” Clarke answered, because for some reason that was the first thing out her mouth. “Stupid…fucking dog stole my food.”

Lexa frowned. “What?”

“S’doesn’t matter.” Clarke murmured, slurring just a little.

Lexa was looking at her like she thought she had a concussion.

She tried to move again and immediately regretted it. There was a painful twinge in her ribs and a sharp jolt of pain flashed from her shoulder, making her hiss and bring a hand up to press against it. Bad idea, because then there was _more_ pain from pushing on the open scar.

And—shit, that scar felt big under her palm.

Lexa noticed instantly, of course. “I’m going to have Nyko check over you, alright?”

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut as she breathed sharply through her nose. She wasn’t really listening, barely able to concentrate more than a few words at most, and so when Lexa called his name over shoulder and Nyko came bundling through her body seemed to react of its own accord.

He came to kneel down by her other side, but she snarled at him when he tried to near, baring her teeth and even attempting to burst up. The only thought that suddenly blared across her senses was _weak_ —yet she hadn’t even risen an inch off the floor till Lexa’s hands was at her chest and pushing her back down.

“You’re safe,” Lexa assured, Clarke’s eyes snapping to her. “He’s here to help you, not hurt. He won’t take advantage.”

Clarke stared at her. Lexa raised her brow, held her gaze, until slowly Clarke tore her eyes off and looked over to Nyko. He had backed away—probably had the second he even caught a hint of a growl—hands out and placating. There was a medical bag hanging off his wrist.

She relaxed. Her wolf was still anxious, recent enough it lingered in her blood but she nodded, cautious. Nyko glanced to Lexa before he approached again. He was slower this time, and Clarke tracked his every move as he carefully came forward and knelt by her.

“I mean you no harm,” he murmured, and despite his imposing figure, his voice was deep but gentle. At meeting no immediate resistance this time, he slowly put the medical kit down to the floor, unzipped it and spread it open. “May I examine your wound?”

Clarke’s eyes flicked to Lexa. She saw her nod, and Clarke clenched her jaw before she brought her gaze back and nodded stiffly. He put on a pair of blue latex gloves before leaning towards her shoulder and eyeing it closely. She flinched when he touched and tried to see how deep it went, and Lexa seemed to move closer in reaction. It comforted Clarke, a little, because Lexa kept glancing between Nyko and the wound like if he made one wrong move she’d end him there.

“It will need stitches.” He finally said, pulling back. Clarke sighed.

Lexa’s eyes jerked up to his. “ _Em na fis op?_ ”

Nyko paused with his mouth open. His brow furrowed slightly, and there was something more careful in the way he looked between them. Lexa’s eyes narrowed and he ducked his head. “ _Sha_. She will need bed rest and some monitoring, most likely will have to stay here, but yes. She will be fine.” He frowned at her. “Though she may need a transfusion. What is your blood type?”

“A-pos.”

Nyko bobbed his head without looking at her. He sifted through the medical bag, picked out a few bottles, gauze pads, a needle and more and Clarke just let her eyes roll up to the ceiling. Barely a week passed and already, here she was. Again. She couldn’t feel the old wound on her back anymore so it’s only fitting that she’d gone and found something else to replace it.

Lexa didn’t leave her side once during it, and it wasn’t so bad.

After, when the wound was stitched and Nyko had left, Lexa came back with some clothes. She remained by her, asked her if she needed help as Clarke carefully—and definitely not painfully—got herself to her feet. She swayed though midsentence and it was only Lexa’s reaction time that meant she didn’t just fall back into the ground.

“Am fine,” Clarke muttered, and Lexa just glared at her, went ahead and helped her anyway.

She tried to be annoyed with it, but Lexa’s eyes never lingered and she was so endearingly gentle that Clarke’s heart thudded a little too loud in her ears.

It was a slow process walking out. Even Clarke couldn’t bullshit her way out of having to lean against her. On the floor, it hadn’t been _too_ hellish. But up on her feet and walking just made her entire body throb and ache, hissing every few steps from a misplaced stride that'd flare pain up in her ribs, as her left arm hung like a dead weight.

Lexa pulled her arm over her shoulder, slipped her own around Clarke’s waist to share the burden.

“I told you I’m fine,” Clarke breathed, but the fact she was breathless from just going up one small set of stairs was proof enough she was lying through her teeth.

“You’re only giving me more sympathy for Raven.”

Clarke laughed under her breath, and even if it was weak and low she glanced out the corner of eye to see Lexa smile. “You really don’t want to give her that. She’ll abuse it in a second.”

Lexa shot her an amused glance. “Of that I have no doubt.”

The house was strangely empty when they went in. She only saw Anya and Nyko, both sitting the kitchen, and the scents of the others were more faded than usual. Anya’s head popped up as they came through. Clarke stiffened, even if she tried to hide it. Anya’s opinion of her didn’t seem to exactly be high. And she was in no position to defend herself.

But Anya just looked between the two of them. There was something strange in her gaze, yet she only ground her teeth and shook her head. Clarke looked to Lexa to see if there was an answer, but Lexa had her jaw clenched too.

The second set of stairs was harder. Lexa stilled at seeing it, muttered that she might be better off even just using the couch, but Clarke frowned and grit her teeth. No, she could do this. If she was going to go in a coma it was going to be in a bed or she’d die trying. Which, well, considering the circumstances, was a genuine possibility.

Lexa sighed again at Clarke’s refusal, but together, slowly and painstakingly, they took each step as it came.

“See?” Clarke panted, once they’d made the top. She grinned up at her. “No biggie.”

“You’re out of breath,” Lexa pointed out, like she wasn’t aware.

“And what’s that got to do with it?”

Lexa sighed again. “Right. So, the guest bedroom is just up here—”

Clarke ignored her and followed the way her heart tugged her. Was maybe more her nose though, that familiar scent that always seemed to call to her. She left Lexa’s side, managed to shuffle her way through forward and push through the bedroom door.

“…Or you could go into mine.” Lexa finished to herself.

Lexa’s room was surprisingly bare. It had the essentials, had the bed and the desk and the wardrobe—there was a wide window too, staring right out into the woods—but there were barely any photos, just a few that sat strung up along the wall. Clarke paused, diverged her course for the bed and went to them. She peered close, and when she felt Lexa come up behind her tried not to react.

“I have more at home,” Lexa murmured, and she was dangerously close to Clarke’s ear.

Clarke swallowed. She kept her gaze on the photo she’d been eyeing—a younger Lexa, of her and Anya with Gustus standing proudly in the middle. He had a hand clasped on each of their shoulders, a warm set to his eyes while teenaged Lexa and Anya looked like they wanted to be anywhere but. Lexa at least seemed to try a _little_ to smile, but Anya had her trademark glare and looked on the brink of murder.

Evidently, she hadn’t changed much.

“Where’s home?” Clarke whispered back to her, making the mistake of glancing behind her.

“Tondc.”

They lingered in that too close space, Clarke’s eyes flicked down, but a rush of dizziness hit her and she swayed before she could stop it. Lexa’s hand shot out, steadying her fast as a blink. “Come on,” Lexa muttered, her brow back to being furrowed in concern. “You need rest.”

She knew she did, but that didn’t change the fact she hated it. She wanted to _react_ , to take in that horrible ache of betrayal that loitered near the back of her mind, but her body was failing on her and Lexa was already tugging her over anyway. She needed a hell of a lot more than rest. For now, though, she supposed that was the best she was getting.

Lexa helped lay her down and any thoughts of resistance were snuffed out.

She was already halfway asleep just laying her head onto the pillow. Still, she kept her eyes open, even if it stung, just so she could frown and watch Lexa grab the chair near her desk and drag it over. Lexa carefully pulled out a book from a bookcase that stood off near the corner, then came over and sat in the chair, directly facing her.

Clarke blinked at her. “You just going to sit there in your chair and watch me while I sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. If I say anything embarrassing in my sleep I’m legally not responsible.”

Lexa didn’t laugh, but Clarke smiled with her eyes closed anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you really just gotta say fuck it and be the most dramatic bitch you can be  
> anyway, hope you enjoyed that. was certainly fun to write. hope you all had a good year last year, but if you didn't, then i've got me fingers crossed 2019 is kinder on you. wish you all a good one. lets hope this year aint such a clutsterfuck. 
> 
> translations (which youll probably be seeing less of cause the dictionary i used for reference is gone now. which is just great. my language skills arent totally shit at all.)
> 
> Em na fis op? - She will heal?


End file.
